


International Fanworks Day 2021

by Eff_Dragonkiller



Series: International Fanworks/Evil Author Day [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Person of Interest (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF John Reese, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Men Culture & Customs, M/M, Off-Screen Rape & Discussion of, Originally posted as part of Rough Trade 2020, Tag Warnings in the Author's Notes, The North Remembers (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eff_Dragonkiller/pseuds/Eff_Dragonkiller
Summary: For International Fanworks Day, I present:Rarer Than Gold: Alec Lightwood is a Sentinel hiding from the Clave with the help of his mate, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn. It takes just one nearly-mundane girl crashing into his life to undo decades of hard work.Hours Without You: John Reese comes online as a Guide during a stint with the CIA. He doesn't think about it. He just turns himself in the direction of New York and starts walking.Hunting Monsters: Ned Stark woke as a Guardian during his rebellion against King Aerys Targaryon. It's only after he swears to Robert Baratheon that he realizes he might have just exchanged one monstrous king for another.Good men still hunt monsters.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Joss Carter/John Reese, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Syrio Forel/Ned Stark
Series: International Fanworks/Evil Author Day [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161815
Comments: 53
Kudos: 87





	1. Rarer Than Gold

**Author's Note:**

> _Rarer Than Gold_ actually drops you in the middle of a story (there should be a fic before it) but if you're at least vaguely familiar with the characters and canon plot, there shouldn't be a problem.
> 
> Don't forget to comment and tell me if you liked the fic enough to read more. Otherwise, it may end up forgotten in the mess of my Works In Progress folder.

Alec was warm and the body pressed up against his was a familiar pleasure to wake up to. He tightened his arms and dragged the close body even closer, "I thought you had a meeting?"

"I made them reschedule." Magnus practically purred. "You were still in bed. I couldn't leave you."

Alec loosened his arms to let his mate squirm around to face him, "I'll be back."

"You always come back." Magnus smiled softly, closing the short distance to press a chaste kiss to Alec's lips. "But I always miss you."

It wasn't often that the two of them had the opportunity to wake up together. Magnus had meetings at all hours as the High Warlock and Alec's own life was no less hectic for being Acting Head of the New York Institute. But for now, it was impossible to look away from his mate. Hair soft and mussed, face creased with the imprint of their sheets, and those beautiful golden eyes peering up at him with soft contentment. Alec couldn't resist kissing him. Couldn't help but chase that kiss with another and then another.

Magnus met him touch for touch, pressing closer and holding tighter as the soft feel of the early morning bled into a heated pleasure.

But the quiet vibration of his work phone where it was docked on the nightstand cut through Alec's passion. There was nothing like the promise of his sibling's mayhem to douse lust like cold water. Pressing his forehead to Magnus's, Alec groaned.

Magnus's eyes cleared a little, "Work?"

"Jace," Alec swore softly into mate's skin, taking in lungfuls of his Warlock's scent. Frankenscense, sweat, and the slightly burnt smell of cinnamon and caramel, his warlock. "I have to go. If he's calling me and not Izzy..."

"It's probably your mother," Magnus sighed, reluctantly letting go one finger at a time. "One day that woman is going to interrupt at the wrong damn moment. I will not be sorry at all if she ends up a toad."

Alec snorted as he grabbed a fresh set of clothes from the closet, "You wouldn't be the only one."

"I hate it when you leave, but this view might be worth it."

Alec shook his head at his mate's complaints as he shut the door to the bathroom. It wouldn't matter how efficient he was in the shower if Magnus followed him in. Quick, they were not.

"I wish you never had to leave," Magnus said later, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips once Alec was dressed and ready to go. "I'd happily tie you to the bed and have my way with you for days."

Alec smirked, "Didn't we do that already?"

"As though we could ever do it too much!" Magnus gasped in mock offense, "See if you get any kisses."

Alec tugged his mate closer, "Hey now, that's a serious threat, Mr. Bane."

"Very serious." Magnus fidgeted with his collar and the chain and medallion that had hung around Alec's neck for years. The smell of burnt caramel rose, and Alec didn't need to look down and see the colorful mesh of blue and gold magic to know that his mate was reinforcing his sensory ward again. Like he did every time Alec had to leave. "Text me if you have trouble. All it takes is a moment to portal down to our coffee spot if you need to ground yourself again."

"When's the Downworld Council meeting again?"

"Just after dark. We'll be in one of the back rooms at Pandemonium."

"I thought it was the Coven's turn to host?" Alec frowned when his mate shrugged helplessly.

"Raphael asked if I could host, and perks of the owner, but I get to use that backroom at Pandemonium for whatever I want." Magnus smirked, "As you well know."

Alec could feel the blush flame across his cheeks and only smiled as his mate near about cackled. "This would be the third time in two months you've hosted when it wasn't your turn. Be careful you're not permanently hosting it."

"I will." Magnus raised his hands in surrender at his mate's skepticism. "I promise. Now, go be a good boy and run back to your Institute."

"I'd rather be bad." Alec didn't let himself be shooed away until he pressed one last kiss to his mate's lips, before he twisted toward the door. Not quite able to drag his eyes away even as he slipped out the door. "Bye."

"Have a nice day at work, Dear!"

\---

Izzy met him at the side door near the old mundane cemetery because she was a wonderful sister. And likely whatever mess needed to be cleaned up now probably wasn't hers.

"What's the password?" She grinned cheekily. Dark hair pulled back in an elaborate braid, training gear soaked in sweat.

"What have you been up to?" Alec asked, slipping through the doorway, "You smell ...off."

"What does that even mean?"

Alec raised a brow, "What? You want me to list it? Pretty sure you don't want to know what I can smell."

Izzy sighed, letting her smile and her shoulders drop. "My date last night stood me up, mom rejected my education proposal, and one of the team leaders—not Jace, for once—broke a Seraph blade and tried to refuse to do the paperwork."

"Send me a copy of the proposal," Alec said as he turned toward the Head's office. "If I think it's solid, I'll approve it."

Following behind, his sister wasn't afraid to cheer, "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet," Alec said with a laugh, the hug taking him off guard so that he stood just outside the door to the Head's office, unable to move until Izzy let him go. "If I think it needs work, I will send it back to you for revisions."

"Still," Izzy pressed a bright red kiss to her brother's cheek, "thank you."

"Sure."

Hodge and Jace had commandeered the sitting area in front of the Head's desk to spread out newspaper clippings and paper copies of reports.

"Hey, boss." Jace smirked, "Nice lipstick."

"Complements his skin tone nicely wouldn't you say?" Izzy said, lounging into a seat as Alec officially signed in for his shift as Acting Head.

"A bit bright, I think." Was Hodge's quiet addition, so Alec groaned and fished the magiced handkerchief—which given his mate's taste was probably some ridiculously old silk thing—and wiped his sister's lip print from his face. A little glad that the tingling went away as the magic cloth collected all evidence of the contamination.

"Happy?"

"I just love watching it happen." Jace admitted, not for the first time. "The best kind of magic; harmless, fascinating, and would probably piss off Maryse."

He wasn't wrong, but Alec figured it was more because Maryse would have an aneurysm just at the idea that one of the Nephilim's sacred sentinels preferred the services of a warlock over the Clave. And that wouldn't even get into the fact that it was a gift from Alec's mate. Oh, that was sure to piss her off if she ever found out.

"Your mate must be wealthy," Alec could practically hear the sly smile in his sister's voice. "To afford magiced handkerchiefs that remove contaminants, and warlock-made bath products for sensitive skin."

"Not to mention the high-end bedsheets and clothes-"

"-even underwear!"

"Izzy!" Alec barked, spinning in his seat. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go through my stuff!"

Izzy shrugged, not even pretending to be sorry, "If it's not locked..."

He groaned, "None of the bedrooms lock!"

"That's what a locking rune is for," Jace practically sang. "So, handkerchiefs, bedsheets, and bath soap. That's a lot of money your mate is willing to spend on you. Unless..."

"They're a warlock!" Izzy practically bounced in her seat. "Please, please, please, tell us it's a warlock! That would be amazing!"

"How many generations of Lightwoods do you think would pop out of the grave to yell at you?"

"At least six," Hodge offered. "Abraham Lightwood was known to be especially opinionated."

"Six generations, Alec!" Jace laughed, "That's got to be some sort of record."

Putting his head down on his arms, Alec groaned again. "Stop fishing. Please, stop fishing for information about my mate."

"We gave you space when you started smiling because we were scared you'd startle." Alec huffed as Izzy dragged him back to the couch in the lounge to cuddle, squishing him between her and Jace. "Then we gave you the space during the honeymoon because you asked, and you so rarely ask for anything, big brother."

"But it's been almost three years, Alec." Jace said quietly, "don't we deserve to know who the other member of our small family is?"

"I can't tell you without discussing it with him first," Alec finally said, wincing and raising his hands to his ears when Izzy started squealing. "Oh, come on! This doesn't have to be a big deal!"

"Three years says it is, asshole!" Jace nailed him in the shoulder with a solid punch and Alec gave into the good cheer his small family practically sweat.

"Alright, alright. I'll ask, but no guarantees. I'd rather introduce you in person and that might take some doing."

"I can wait." Izzy bounced back into her seat. "I am the very embodiment of patience."

Alec stared at the bouncing knees and hummed. "Uh, huh."

Hodge coughed, "If you could sign off on the patrols, I can start giving orders."

"Ugh, work." Jace groaned, flopping back on the couch and nearly tripping Alec as the older sibling resorted to climbing over his Parabatai to reach his desk.

"Yes, yes. Time to be an adult." Alec shook his head, "When did Mom and Dad leave, anyway? It's not like them to just disappear." When the sitting area quieted conspicuously, Alec rolled his eyes and amended his statement. "It's not like them to disappear on me. They usually want me front and center."

"I think it was around midnight," Hodge admitted. "Robert took an evening portal around six, said that Max needed him back in Idris. Maryse portaled out around midnight not long after she had to be told that Robert had left earlier."

The office was quiet for a moment.

"There's something going on with that, right?" Izzy finally asked, "I'm not the only one who thinks that's weird?"

"You're not," Alec said, turning back to his small family, "but there's nothing we can do about it. Not if they don't want to share with us."

Nothing that Alec could share without his parents' knowledge. There was a tiny number of people—mostly this room and Magnus—that knew he was Sentinel, one of the rare Nephilim blessed by the Angel with enhanced senses. All the better to hunt demons with, but it left him vulnerable to the world in ways only his mate could really protect him from and knowledgeable about all sorts of private information concerning his subordinates that frankly he couldn't care less about. Simply because he didn't want to know about it, didn't mean that he could just share that information with anyone. Especially when they didn't know that Alec knew the information.

So, the secrets of his parents' marital disputes, and a surprising amount of information on the physical and mental wellbeing of every single person in the Institute stayed locked behind his teeth with the tenacity that only a Lightwood could claim. Alec refused to believe that anyone could out stubborn them.

"Alright," Izzy finally agreed. "Then I'll head back to the armory. I've got a blade to fix, a report to nag about, and a proposal to sort out."

"You can CC me on the email about the blade, and if you could get me your I-33b by the end of shift, I'd appreciate it."

She swore, checking her phone for the date, and ran out the door, promising she'd have it in on time. Alec just shook his head; he'd put the new deadlines in place for a reason.

"What about you, Jace?"

"I was trying to sort out some information," Jace said with a gesture to the overflowing coffee table. "Underhill flagged a series of suspicious deaths from the mundane system. All bodies were drained of blood, completely."

Alec gave the conversation his full attention, "And you don't think it's a vampire?"

"Besides the fact that we've had no problem with vampires since Camille Belcourt was killed and her blood dens were closed." Jace handed him the tablet, a murder scene on the screen. "These murders are violent but not necessarily aggressive. More, wild. There was no attempt to cover it up, and according to the report and the pictures, the victims died from a single puncture wound to the neck, but there were no bites."

"We think it's a demon, peddling mundane blood." Hodge said.

Alec leaned back in his seat; this was a surprising show of initiative from his Parabatai. Jace was usually incapable of thinking more than two or three steps ahead. See the problem, assume an answer, and kill it. From the way Jace was carefully not looking in Hodge's direction, Alec figured his brother might have gotten some coaching.

"Alright, what's your plan?"

This time Jace checked with Hodge before continuing. "With Hodge's advice, I sent out a patrol to check the neighborhood all the bodies had been found in. We might not find the demons, but we might identify their nest."

"It's a good start," Alec nodded thoughtfully, "but the nest is a lesser concern."

"What do you mean?"

"Demons don't peddle mundane blood. They don't exsanguinate their victims unless they have a reason. We catch these demons, great. But if we don't catch who they're giving it to, it'll just keep happening."

"You think someone made a bargain with demons for mundane blood?" Jace blinked.

"You think that makes less sense than a minor demon with limited intelligence completely changing behavior randomly?"

"How do you-"

"Because if it was a higher-level demon that needed blood to survive, we would see a far greater casualty report. Frankly, it would be a mess." Alec sat back. "Tell me what the patrol finds, but don't be surprised if it's not a lot. And Jace," Alec stopped his Parabatai from leaving, "prep the mission paperwork. I'm not joining you on an unauthorized witch hunt."

Jace groaned. His Parabatai had the highest number of unauthorized missions of any team commander in the States, not just their Institute. He hated paperwork with a fiery passion and it was only Alec's willingness to not see his brother stripped of his rank, and Maryse Lightwood's favoritism that kept the other out of an eternity of Ichor duty.

"Aren't you still docked for the last time?" Hodge asked as they watched him shuffle sluggishly out the door.

"Yeah," Jace sighed dramatically, "doesn't mean I like the paperwork any better."

"One day brother," Alec shook his head, "You're going to end up in front of the Inquisitor because you won't have any more pay to dock."

"Hopefully he'll learn before it gets to that point." Hodge said as the door shut behind Jace.

"Honestly, Hodge, I really doubt it." Alec sighed.

In the three years Alec had known Magnus, he'd been pleased to see his siblings grow up from capable but immature to mostly adult he could rely on. Mostly. Alec tried not lie to himself, Jace and Izzy had a ways to go before he would be willing to leave the Institute in their hands.

"How goes the Institute, otherwise?"

"Underhill worked out well in security." Hodge led with, "Another month and you should be able to promote him to head of security without anyone batting an eye."

"And where does that leave you?" Alec frowned, "Back to breaking heads and attitudes as training master? You're worth more than that, Hodge."

"I like to think I did pretty well with you."

"Come on," Alec groaned, "You did great with us, but it's been twenty years since your sentencing. You can afford to move on, even if you can't leave. Try something new, get the recognition you deserve for a job well done."

"Like you?" Hodge quirked a smile at the grimace Alec failed to hide. "We both have our reasons for hiding." He handed over a secure tablet, "anyway, this came in about an hour ago."

Detailed on the screen was an email from his mother, addressed to him as the acting head, so he would have gotten it, eventually. Alec huffed out a breath, "You know Clave politics better-"

"If from the wrong end, sure." Hodge snorted.

"-how likely do you think this is? Robert getting appointed as Deputy Inquisitor?"

Hodge hesitated, "I'd say unlikely, except, this follows him leaving suddenly for Alicante last night without telling your mother. If he had some sort of pull with the Clave that your mother didn't have-"

"Like a mistress who might be well placed?" Alec asked sardonically.

"-like a close friend with a lot of political clout. Robert's record isn't spotless, but he's also not a marked Circle member, and the New York Institute is one of the highest ranked in the world." Hodge shrugged, "I'd say it's split odds. Really depends on who he's competing with."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"How do you want to play it, boss?" Hodge offered Alec a rare but mischievous smile.

"By the book," Alec replied, "if we really are about to welcome an Auditor from the Inquisitor's office, then we don't really have a choice."

\---

It wasn't hard to follow the shapeshifter the patrol had tagged, he could see the unstable shift and churn of the demonic energy as the demon went from one form to the next like a blinking neon sign in the night. Glamored, the three Shadowhunters followed the shapeshifter into Pandemonium. Vaguely, while Alec typed out a message to his mate that they were in the building hunting, he heard a female yelp and Jace's low laugh.

"You have the sight."

I'm considering poisoning a Circle member. Those bounties are outstanding, right? -M

Only if you split it with me. Have fun. -A

A little viciously, Alec tugged on the Parabatai bond, because flirting with a mundane was just about the height of reckless when they didn't know what they were getting themselves into.

"I'm here, alright?" Jace grumbled.

"You're supposed to be leading this, Jace." Alec hissed. "Get in place, before I do something worse than put you on ichor duty for the next month."

He'd worked out the requirements years ago toward making a temporary imprisonment rune like Hodge's. After all, how else was he supposed to know how to break it? Alec was sure that face with a month of literal Institute arrest, either of his siblings would be far more willing to get their act together.

Maybe.

Of course, Alec hadn't even found a decent vantage point by the time it all went to hell in a handbasket. Suddenly, in the middle of what should have been a simple mission, there were Circle members and shapeshifting demons and a civilian with the sight and no ability to mind her own business.

"I'll get her!"

Because that would solve his problems. Alec groaned. They had reports and addendums to fill out; someone needed to go over the intelligence reports for this mission, and in hindsight it probably wasn't a fluke that there were Circle members in Pandemonium right as they tracked the shapeshifter into the club. And Jace ran off after a cute mundane with the sight when on paper this mission was his.

"That's not helpful," Alec grumbled to his sister as he picked his arrows out of bodies and sludge.

"Oh, come on, Alec." Izzy said, hands on her hips, tapping her toe in his direction. "Even if it's Jace's name on the paperwork, it's not like everyone doesn't know you were the one in charge."

"It doesn't matter if I'm in charge in the field." Alec scowled, "It matters that Jace's name is on the paperwork! And now he's run off, and the mission isn't even complete!"

"So? I'll go back to the Institute, file the paperwork, call for a clean-up crew. You can stay here," She offered a sultry grin toward a pack of wolves their age near the bar. "Maybe find some company?"

Alec frowned at his sister, "Call the damn clean-up crew so I can head home."

"Your loss," Izzy shrugged, waving goodbye with a kiss toward her brother and the group of wolves.

Glamours, runes, and vehicles meant it didn't take long for the clean-up crew to be dragging the last body from the club and cleaning away the last of the chore. And if there were a few sniffs about cleaning a Downworld club, well, Alec had made his opinion clear on that kind of stupidity a long time ago. Insulting warlocks meant bad things for budgets and charmed armor.

No one could guarantee the fault lay with the spell work, of course. Everyone had at least one name they knew whose death couldn't be explained any other way though.

Ducking into a shadowy corner, Alec applied an even stronger glamour rune and headed towards the back where a hidden stairway led the way to Magnus's office. Perks of dating the owner, Alec knew all ways to avoid the staff. Perks of being a Sentinel, he didn't need to knock to know his mate was alone.

"Magnus?"

"In here!" The Warlock stuck his head out from the attached bathroom, eyes dark and solemn, his mouth foaming with toothpaste. He spat and rinsed, "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"You were still in the club," Alec shrugged. It wasn't like he was going to get within five hundred feet of his mate and not see him. He grew concerned as Magnus swished, spat, and continued brushing, "Babe?"

"Damn Fae," Magnus scowled, "slipped something in my drink at the council meeting this evening."

Alec straightened in a rush, reaching out for him and letting his hands drop when Magnus avoided his touch. "Are you okay?"

"I have no fucking idea what it was," Magnus snarled, magic sparking on his fingertips. The melted plastic smell making Alec's nose wrinkle as Magnus tossed the wrecked to toothbrush to summon another. "And it's not going away."

Magnus was diligent, magically diligent, about what he put in or on his body once he realized exactly how dangerous it could be to Alec. The warlock had changed bath recipes that had been standard for centuries to get rid of ingredients Alec was allergic to. He'd watched the other man throw out perfume that had been gifts and refuse favorite foods because it meant Alec couldn't kiss him. Watching his drinks was second nature.

"The wait staff?" Alec guessed, and from the rabid sounding growl that resulted, correctly.

"They're fired." Magnus finally huffed, wiping his mouth clean. "All of them."

"Seems a bit much," Alec said blandly, finally pulling his mate in close.

There was a spot somewhere in his chest that ached with the absence of his mate from his side. Not debilitating, but enough that the idea it had once been compared to the parabatai bond was befuddling. Alec was far more aware of every moment he spent separate from his mate than he would even care to remember the time he spent separate from Jace. The difference was distinct, and wrapping his arms around Magnus was the only relief he got.

Magnus huffed, "Anyone willing to slip drugs in drinks in my club should be happy with only getting fired!"

"And if it was only one or two?" Alex asked quietly, shifting his love so they were seated on his couch together. "Would you really want innocent staff let go?"

The warlock was quiet, tucked under Alec's arm with his legs thrown over the Sentinel's lap. "I do have that truth spell. Anyone who wants to stay has to submit to the spell, and if I find they've been drugging drinks, then they'll be lucky if I just fire them."

Alec hummed, "And the Seelie Queen?"

"It's bound to be some convoluted strategy to make me more sympathetic to her envoy on the Downworlder Council." Magnus scowled into the middle distance; Alec was afraid the curtains might catch on fire. "Something about an impending threat."

"The Circle?" Alec shifted, "the demon we followed here was collecting mundane blood."

"Whatever for?" Magnus shook his head, "I don't doubt you. It may well have been headed for the Circle members I evicted right after you arrived-"

"Poisoned?"

"-Unfortunately not. I just threw them out." His hands trailed a shimmering wave of magic in their wake. "Few Nephilim are as brave in the face of magic as you, saying."

"I trust you." Alec hugged his love to him.

Magnus's expression softened and kissed the Sentinel like he couldn't imagine going another moment without. One pressed to his cheek, another pressed to the corner of his lips, and a third growing hot and moist as lips opened and tongues got involved.

Breaking away to breathe, Alec chuckled, "I was going to ask you another question."

Magnus was too close, forehead pressed up to his, to see the golden cat eyes and his wicked smile properly. But Alec could hear it in his voice, "Oh? And what would that be?"

"I forgot."

They laugh breathlessly for a moment, coming together once and then once more, before Magnus finally slides off to the side and lets the Shadowhunter up. Just in time for his cell to ding.

He sighed forlornly, "Time for you to go?"

Alec frowned. "Yeah. Have to go clean up whatever mess Jace just got into. Bringing a damn mundane into the Institute."

"If he gets you put on trial for this shit, Alec, I fully expect you to let me save you."

"Hopefully it won't get to that." Alec said pressed a last kiss, always one more, to his mate's skin.

"With your Parabatai?" Magnus held the door open, "I'm not holding my breath."

\---

Alec took a deep breath and regretted it. It had been a quick portal and a brief walk from Pandemonium to the Institute, so Alec still had his mate's scent in his lungs, but it went quickly in the Infirmary.

Hodge had met him at the door with a brief update. Jace had arrived only half an hour ago with a mundane girl. Claiming she was attacked by a demon and that he'd used an iratze to heal her.

Which was evident by the black marks of the rune peeking through the neck of her blouse.

Alec had to wonder what his brother was thinking when he brought her back to the Institute. It couldn't have been about the attack because there were protocols in place for that.

Of course, that required his parabatai to not only follow them but to know they existed.

"What's with the mundane?"

"Her name's Clary Fray," Izzy offered, holding out a mundane license. "She was attacked by demons in her home."

Alec handed the license off to Hodge, he'd know to run it, and stared back at his sister. "Okay. Why is she here?"

"She was hurt." Jace said, "She needed help."

"Mundanes become the victims of demon attacks all the time." He stared down his Parabatai, "You've never argued about bringing any of them back to the Institute before."

His attention was still on Jace, but he could hear Izzy sigh from his corner on the other side of the bed just fine.

"Clary's different."

Alec left it for a moment, waiting for Jace to elaborate on why she was different. Hoping for an answer that was more than a pretty face who could see him. Jace didn't say anything.

"Okay. You wanna tell me which head you were thinking with?" Alec asked, "Because it wasn't the one on your shoulders."

"Hey!" Jace scowled, "I don't know what your problem is Alec, but don't take it out on Clary."

Alec growled, "My problem is with you! You broke Clave law, Jace. You failed to complete your mission last night-"

"The mission was completed!"

"By me! By Izzy!" Alec shouted, "This was your test, Jace, and you practically failed it! Hodge did the intelligence work, I led the mission, Izzy called clean up. Where is your damn report?!"

"I'm sorry. You're right, I screwed up." Jace took a deep breath, consciously lowering his shoulders. "But Clary is one of us! The Seraph blade lit in her hands, she took the iratze-"

"Which was incredibly dangerous," Hodge interjected. His attention was on the mundane in the bed, and if Alec had the energy to deal with more than just his brother, he'd be concerned about the frown creasing his second's brow. But he trusted Hodge far more than Jace at the moment. If Hodge knew something, he'd let Alec know.

"She's a Shadowhunter!" Jace burst, "She's one of us and you're treating her like a criminal!"

"Jace," Alec grit out, "we don't know who she is."

"Holding a seraph blade, taking a rune," Hodge said, "only means she has Nephilim blood. It's not as rare as you might think. Being a Shadowhunter requires training and experience. And the willingness to die for a cause. She's not a Shadowhunter."

"She could be, we could train her!"

"She could be," Izzy agreed with Jace quietly, "but maybe you should wait to find out if it's what Clary wants, instead of assuming."

The body on the infirmary bed groaned. Clary Fray's hand rose to her head as she blinked up at the people collected at her bedside. Alec stepped back and let Jace and Izzy move closer.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"You're at the New York Institute," Izzy said gently. "You're Clary, right? You were hurt. Do you remember last night?"

Alec stepped over to Hodge, "Is she in the system?"

"No. She's not in our system or the mundane one." Hodge hesitated.

Alec wanted to pester his second, because the uncertainty Hodge was giving off was rivaling the smell of industrial cleaners, but his attention was already being dragged back to the bed in the corner and the promises his siblings were making.

"You have to help me find my mom!"

"Of course, we will. Don't worry about it."

"You can't promise that." Alec interrupted, soft smiles and comforting gazes turned hard as Alec stepped closer. "We can't promise anything of the sort."

"Alec-"

"Brother-"

"Who are you?" The girl in the bed asked with a scowl.

"This is our older brother, Alec." Izzy introduced, biting her lip. "He's kind of in charge."

"Kind of?" Clary snorted, "then maybe you should send in the person really in charge. My mom's missing and those monsters took her! We can't just wait for her to show up!"

"You don't want them," Alec said easily, no matter how much he'd really appreciate his mother swooping down like a bat to be the bad guy. "Our father would just kick you out. Our mother would probably lock you up in a cell and put you through hell just in case you were a spy." He paused, "You aren't a spy, are you, Clary?"

"What? No." She scrambled a little in the bed, "Who are you people?"

"We're Shadowhunters." Jace jumped in, "All the fairy tales you grew up with? They're real. We're the people fighting the monsters under the bed. And this rune means you're one of us."

"Maybe," Izzy rushed to say. "It means you have Nephilim blood and you could use our weapons and learn our power, but it's an enormous commitment and you would need to swear yourself to the good of the Clave."

"Which I'm not doing," Clary said firmly, scowling at Alec, as though he were the entire Clave. Like the Clave would still exist if Alec was in charge. "I just- I just need to find my mom. Those things took her!"

"We will! Don't worry about it." Jace jumped to reassure her and turned to Alec with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. "After all, if Demons took Clary's mom, that means she was taken for someone. That someone would be in violation of the Accords or the Clave dictates on the behavior and conduct of Nephilim. Correct?"

Alec nodded slowly, Jace was completely ignoring the caveat that deruned or fugitive Nephilim weren't considered under the protection of the Clave, but they wouldn't know either way until they found her. "That's true."

"So, we have to look for Mrs. Fray, just to make sure the Accords weren't violated."

That was not at all how the Clave operated, but Alec wasn't going to get into a shouting match with his Parabatai in front of an outsider.

"Then you won't mind coming back to the head office to start that paperwork, would you?" Alec directed Jace toward the door and asked, "Isabelle, could you keep an eye on our guest?"

"Of course, hermano."

"Whatever happened to 'protect the innocent'?" Jace snarled as the door to the infirmary closed behind them.

It was Hodge who lashed out, grabbing Jace's ear and twisting, just the way he had when they were little and paying more attention to Izzy's stories of butterflies and not their lessons.

"Whatever happened to operational security?" Hodge scowled, tugging Jace by the ear all the way through the Institute and into the Head's office.

If they passed a few staff fighting not to laugh on the way, well, Alec wasn't going to offer any answers.

"By the Angel, you idiot, you want to spread your Parabatai's biggest secret throughout the damn Institute?" Hodge shoved Jace toward the couch.

"He-"

"Don't blame this on him, it was your mouth running where anyone could hear it."

"You're a sentinel," Jace shouted over Hodge, and Alec was infinitely more relieved because of the soundless rune he'd traced on the door if his brother was going to be shouting stuff like that. "You're supposed to help people in need. You're supposed to be the hero; Clary needs a hero. She needs your help!"

"The last three sentinels died before they were thirty, Jace." Alec stared at his panting brother. "One died before he was twenty. They all died because they let the Clave, or their Institute, or their family, rush them into situations because they were Sentinels. And they're 'supposed to be heroes'. I refuse to make my mate a widower before I've even married him."

Jace gaped, "I wouldn't-"

"Weren't you?" Alec sighed and took his seat behind the desk of the head. There was a whole string of new messages he had to look at, an invoice from a local warlock that wasn't Magnus—though he would consult his mate just in case—and Underhill had sent him a notice that something had gone wrong on one of the early morning patrols. It was 5am. His shift started in five hours and Alec had a bad feeling he'd be running on a stamina rune today instead of sleep.

"Clary just needs help." Jace said quietly, "She doesn't know what she's getting herself into with this. Please don't let her get killed just because she doesn't know the rules."

Alec closed his eyes for a moment, the little number of on the inbox kept climbing and distracting him. "Okay. How about this? Spend the day with Clary, get her started on the rules and runes. If you can find out more about what happened with her mom, great. If not, we'll handle it this afternoon. I need a couple of hours to actually be Head of the Institute."

"Sounds good," Jace said, slowly walking back towards the door like Alec was going to change his mind. As though Alec didn't already regret it. "I'll see you later, bye!"

He groaned and let his head hit the blotter on the desk. He could feel his shoulders tightening at the very idea of how much trying to report this to the Clave was going to suck. Pre-emptively, Alec pulled out his mate's handkerchief and laid it out on the desk next to him. Frankincense and cinnamon, and the burnt caramel smell of magic.

It was good enough for now.

"Why are you still here, Hodge?" Alec tilted his head to ask. "Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?"

"Like you're going to get sleep?"

"I wish."

Hodge hesitated, and Alec straightened at the rapid pace the other man's heart had jumped to. "I think Clary Fray is Clarissa Morgenstern. The missing daughter of Jocelyn and Valentine Morgenstern."

Alec groaned and let his head thunk down on the desktop. Forget it. He just wanted to curl back into his mate's bed. The world could implode without him.

**~ Part Two ~**

There was a knock on the office door, and Alec raised his head. He was seeing numbers when he blinked and the glare from the computer screen had him squinting. There was a half-eaten sandwich on the corner of his desk and a lukewarm cup of coffee next to his hand. He didn't want to hear whatever mess was waiting on the other side of the door.

"Alec?"

There went any hope of avoiding it, too, because if Hodge was knocking on his door than it was bound to be something Alec needed to hear. "Come in."

"Jace, Izzy, and Clary just left the Institute by the cemetery side door." Alec was cursing and jumping from his seat before Hodge was finished. "They were headed in the direction of the Fray's apartment."

"Address?" The stamina rune burnt a little more than usual on his skin, but Alec was pushing twenty hours without even a nap and touch was always the first sense to go wonky.

The address was a bit away, but not too far he wouldn't be able to get there pushing his speed rune. Hopefully, he'd arrive in time to stop them, to do something else utterly insane and illegal. Like actually tracking Jocelyn Fray. Angels above, Clary hadn't even been in his life a full day and he already hated her guts. He'd hate to see what a week could do.

Hearing sent out into the building caught the three should-have-known-better Shadowhunters climbing the stairs, so Alec went up the fire escape. It wasn't like ten feet was a monumental feat when he was used to jumping alleyways in the dark. An unlocking rune on a window on the right floor got him into the apartment just in time to walk to the front door and open it.

"Fuck!" Clary lashed out with the hand fisted around her keys, and Alec didn't even have to think before she was disarmed and pinned to the wall.

"Alec!"

"You can't-"

Even with three people shouting, the Sentinel could still hear a gun cocking. Alec stilled as light from a stairway window reflected off the metal of the weapon right before the scent of wolf proceeded the other into the space.

"Get your hands off my daughter."

"Luke!" Clary thrashed about in his grip, doing more damage to herself than Alec and the Sentinel wondered if it was worth the hassle. Clearly the girl had a death wish.

"Your daughter needs to learn some manners," Alec said casually as he let her go.

There wasn't enough room in the cramped quarters of the landing outside the Fray's door to really fight. But if it came down to it. Alec would bet his still burning speed rune against a werewolf's trigger finger.

Clary wasn't smart enough to realize that throwing herself at the werewolf meant obstructing his line of sight. Possibly, given the angle of her body, even shooting into her to get his opponents.

Alec took a deep breath and stepped back into the Fray’s house. He figured he could trust that the wolf wouldn't do.

"Clary," the wolf shushed his daughter, shifting her to his side so that his weapon was free once again. "Who are your new friends?"

"Um, this is Jace and Izzy," she sneered, "and their brother Alec, who we definitely did not invite along." She rubbed her shoulder, "That hurt, asshole!"

"It was supposed to." Alec leaned against the breakfast counter, a good three paces away from both the wolf and the girl, the farthest he was willing to give them. "Who are you?"

"Alec and Izzy... Lightwood?" And the wolf released a slow, controlled breath at their confirmation. "Was it the Institute or the Circle who took Jocelyn?"

Clary looked up at her father with a confused frown, "Luke, you mean you knew about this? About the monsters and the, the nightmares?"

"Of course," He sighed, holstering his weapon. "I was a Shadowhunter once, too. Just like your mother."

Izzy inhaled sharply through her teeth, "Oh, this will not go well with the Clave."

"Nothing goes well with the Clave."

Luke eyed the two other men in the apartment, the claim having come in exasperated stereo. "Luke Garroway. Once upon a time, I was Lucian Greymark."

"Valentine's parabatai." Alec hummed, letting Jace step forward to shake hands. Alec wasn't the one who wanted to be friends. "Which, by my guess, would make Jocelyn- Jocelyn Morgenstern nee Fairchild."

His siblings froze, and even Clary could tell that something in that statement hadn't been what it appeared. Izzy grabbed her hand and tugged the civilian away from the three men.

"Is that a problem?" Luke asked carefully, one eye on Alec and the other on Jace.

"No," his Parabatai said, voice firm but body language still uncertain. "Valentine's dead."

"Tell me, Luke, does Jocelyn's wrist still carry a wedded union rune?"

Luke froze, tension riddling his frame, and the answer he gave was gritted out from between clenched teeth. "Yes."

"So, you've been sitting on the knowledge that Valentine was still alive for the last twenty years." Alec didn't move, just staring at the wolf. "You knew that the most violent and wanted criminal of the Clave was still alive and at large and you didn't say a thing."

Jace stepped forward into the tight silence of the apartment. Stepping right into Alec's line of sight for both Fray and Garroway. "Alec, how do you know this stuff?"

Alec blinked at his parabatai. "Hodge thought he recognized her."

"And you didn't tell me?!"

"It wouldn't have done much good," Alec said pointedly, staring at the apartment around them. "Since you wouldn't have been there."

"Ah," Jace bit his lip, "Oops?"

"What exactly did you think you could accomplish without me?" Alec straightens, "You don't have training in investigating. Izzy doesn't have the training. Clary can't even hold a blade the right way, she definitely doesn't have the training. What were you going to do? Look around the apartment, see that someone trashed it and conclude that Jocelyn must have been taken against her will? Nice deductive reasoning, genius."

"Alec," Izzy admonished with a frown, "we just want to help."

Alec really really doubted it. They didn't want him to report the girl to the Clave. They didn't want to wait for him to join them. Alec doubted they even had a plan. Perhaps they wanted Jocelyn returned to her family safely. What they wanted more was for it to happen their way, so they could shove the knowledge in Alec's face, maybe even the Clave's face, and truthfully say that they didn't need the Clave.

Which was so far from true his siblings might as well have been in space for all the logic trying them to the earth.

"We could your help now, _hermano_." Izzy said quietly from the other end of the room.

Alec thought about refusing. If the Clave was his Tribe, his community to protect, the way it was for Sentinels of old, then he didn't owe a damn thing to the fugitive, Jocelyn Morgenstern. Except that he could expect the disappointment of his siblings would be earth shattering.

"She could be held by Valentine, Alec." Jace frowned. "He's not a nice guy. What do you think he'd do to the woman who escaped him?"

Not anything good, that was for sure. And with the reminder that Jocelyn might not have had the protection of the Clave, but that it was still his responsibility to follow any credible intelligence on a dangerous fugitive of the Clave, Alec started his investigation.

"Just make sure they stay out of my way," Alec sighed, trying to decide how this would work with two people in the room who didn't know his secret.

He worked clockwise from his position in the kitchen through the living space and back towards the bedrooms of the cluttered and trashed three-bedroom apartment. The kitchen smelt like decay, the way kitchens always smelt, short of bleach or magic. There was the faint hint of fungus and grass on the cutting board, but it wasn't enough to tell if it was from potion preparation or just a regular diet of sprouts and mushrooms.

The dining room, more of a nook set between the kitchen and the living room, didn't smell heavily used. There was leftover ink and graphite on the hardwood. Alec guessed it was probably used more frequently for homework than meals.

Moving into the living room, Alec could tell even without noticing that it was trashed that this was where the real altercation took place. He could smell fear and determination laced with the hormone markers of two different women.

"Clary, was there someone else who would have access to this apartment? Besides you, Luke, and Jocelyn?"

"Uh, Dot?" Clary cleared her throat. "She worked with mom in the antique store downstairs. Sometimes assistant, sometimes fortune teller."

"Did you see her last night?"

"Before I left for Simon's gig, yeah." Clary bit her lip, "but it was just that monster wearing her face when I got back."

Yeah, there was a fine layer of what smelt like shapeshifter near the door and into the living room, but it wasn't thick and it didn't go deep into the apartment. Which sounded more like an attack of opportunity than something premeditated. Except, if his and Magnus's guesses about what the Circle was doing in Pandemonium was true, then the Circle had already been working with a shapeshifter. No reason they couldn't be working with more.

Alec put the thought aside to find what he could about the women's opponents. Male definitely. He could smell the anticipation and violence these Circle members must have been reeking while they were here the smell was still so powerful. There were three sets of impressions in the carpet.

All large sizes, boots would be Alec's guess, with the same tread of the boots the Institute issued. The same boots all the Institutes issued. Alec wasn't sure if that was useful or not. Those boots were mundane made, like most materials the Institutes stocked. But maybe.

Following the one set of prints that went down the back hall, a slightly smaller set that left lighter prints, the Sentinel wrinkled his nose. This one was excited. Worryingly excited. Male arousal was lightly laced in the stale air, and Alec had to swallow his heart back down his throat.

Leading back to the living room, Alec figured the only good thing out of this was that he didn't smell sex, consensual or not, in any of the rooms. It had to have been at least three months since anyone had coupled in the apartment.

"What did you get?" Izzy asked as he re-entered the living room.

Jace, in a huddle near the entryway with Clary and Luke, turned his attention toward Alec expectantly.

The Sentinel shrugged, "There were two women and three men. A violent altercation occurred, but no blood was spilled." Alec took a deep breath and looked for, yep—ozone and brimstone and something flowery, right up against the far living room wall. "They left through a portal. Even I can't track those."

"That's nothing to go on then," Jace sighed, yelping when Izzy smacked him right across the chest with the flat of her palm. "Not that we don't appreciate it!"

"A portal? What's that?" Clary shook her head, a flush rising to her cheeks with frustration, "Nevermind that. Tell me this, how could you possibly know that? That there were two women and three men?"

"Clary," Luke said quietly, reaching out for her, his gaze intent on Alec on the far side of the room. But Clary shook him off.

"No! I want to know. How could you possibly know this information?" She stepped forward, glaring up at him and hissed, "Unless you were here."

"Clary!"

"He's not-!"

"I was working last night, Fray." Alec glared down at her. "Maybe you should-"

"I don't believe you!"

"He's a goddamned Sentinel, Clary!" Jace suddenly shouted over everyone, scowling out at the gathered people. "There's nothing he would want less than to join the fucking Circle."

"For fuck's sake, Jace," Alec glared, "just air my personal business to strangers, why don't you?"

"It's not anything bad," Jace frowned. "I never understood why you hid, Alec."

"Whether or not you understood, it wasn't your choice."

"What's a Sentinel?" Clary interrupted, still scowling, "some sort of super soldier or something?"

"They are special soldiers in the war against demons," Luke said, his gaze carefully avoiding the eldest Lightwood as he grabbed his daughter and dragged her out of the Sentinel's personal space. "They've been blessed by the Angel with heightened senses. If Sentinel Lightwood says that there were two women and three men here, that they left through a portal, then we can trust that it's the truth."

"Luke-" Clary protested.

"To doubt a Sentinel is beyond the pale, Clary." Luke said urgently, "If you want to survive in this world, listen to me. Sentinel Lightwood is-"

"Stop calling me Sentinel." Alec interrupted, "This isn't information I'm keen on becoming public," he bit back a growl as a bitter type of satisfaction laced the girl's scent. It was unpleasant and showed far more of her character and thoughts than she knew. "And honestly, take the time to school your daughter at some other point. We need to decide where we're going next."

"We could try tracking Jocelyn," Jace suggested, waving his stele at his parabatai.

"No."

"What is your fucking problem?" Clary snarled, "Why are you even here?!"

"I may not care about you or your mother," Alec snarled, "but I'm not letting my siblings walk into the unknown without backup!"

Luke pulled her back in, clamping a hand over her mouth and whispering fiercely in her ear. It wouldn't stop him from hearing if Alec wanted to know, but he most decidedly did not.

"We're vulnerable, right now," Alec explained to his waiting siblings. "We still don't really know what's going on. And Parabatai tracking always sends my senses spiking for hours. We don't have time for that."

"A warlock could track her with minimal fuss," Luke said into the quiet.

Izzy raised a brow, "But a big paycheck. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to swear away my soul to an unknown warlock."

"I know a guy." Luke finally admitted with a huff, "He probably won't even ask for your soul."

"Is that literal?" Clary whispered frantically to Izzy as she hurried after her father. Looking hilariously frantic when Isabelle, currently his favorite sibling, just shrugged. Her lips curling in from her attempt to restrain her laughter.

"It's a joke, Clary." Jace soothed, jogging to keep up. "It's just a joke."

"It wasn't funny," the girl huffed.

Alec lengthened his stride, "I thought it was."

"Lightwoods unite!" Twisting around, Izzy raised her fist and Alec tapped it with his knuckles.

"Where are we going?" Clary asked from up ahead.

"Brooklyn," Luke replied shortly, leading the way out of the apartment.

Alec hid a wince trailing behind the group at the very back and wondered what the odds were that there was another powerful, professional warlock who lived and worked in Brooklyn and wouldn't turn away a gaggle of random Shadowhunters with a sneer. They probably weren't that great.

*********

Just as he'd expected, Luke led the group to a renovated warehouse in Brooklyn that Alec knew had some of the best wards and the most affordable apartments. Perks of a centuries-old warlock landlord, not that most of them knew it. Most of the building was split into a mix of studios and one-bedrooms. Affordable housing for students and people early in their careers struggling to make ends meet. But there were a few larger units.

There was a four-bedroom apartment on the floor below Magnus's whose family had been living there for four generations and counting. Sighted mundanes who kept their landlords secrets and had probably the only rent-controlled apartment in a six-block radius. They'd already told Magnus they weren't leaving for anything short of the end of days.

Alec couldn't blame them.

And there was an elderly couple on the first floor raising a warlock grandchild. Ben and Maggie and their scaled treasure Charlotte. Alec hadn't been oblivious to the look on his mate's face. They hadn't talked about it yet, but he wasn't an idiot. Magnus had taken in hundreds of Downworlders over his lifetime; that he wasn't currently fostering anyone was more an exception than the status quo. Alec was well prepared to grow their little family by one scaled baby if something ever happened to the Joys.

Luke knocked on the door of Magnus's loft. An impatient rap-rap-rap that, if he knew his mate, was bound to have the warlock even slower to answer the door.

"Magnus, open up!" The werewolf shouted, "These are your damn 'office hours', I know you're in there!"

"Rude, Lucian, really." Magnus huffed as he opened the door to lean out, "Perhaps I had a client, hmm?"

"You have a client now. We need you to track someone."

"Manners, Greymark," Magnus said, his tone a little flatter as he looked over the group mostly huddled outside his doorway. "Lost one of your sainted Shadowhunters, did you?"

His eyes seemed to linger on Alec for a moment. A brief sweep of the Sentinel's form to check that he was okay, and subtle tendril of magic — the kind even other sighted would have difficulty seeing — reached out to wrap around him playfully. Just to make sure, as Magnus would say. It was difficult to maintain his expression, to not relax into the sanctuary his mate's magic could provide.

If it was only his siblings, he might have thought about it. But there was no way he was going to expose another secret to Fray and her father. Though, given the mischievous light that entered his mate's eyes as he gestured the group into the loft, that might not necessarily mean he would have no contact with his mate. And, well, Alec was always willing to play the warlock's games.

Magnus shut the door as Alec walked in, letting his body slide against the Sentinels with a coy smile, "Well, hello gorgeous."

And Alec blushed. Three years and he still hadn't stopped blushing at his mate's obvious flirtation. "Uh, hi."

The warlock's smile softened a little, and Alec could see the way Magnus swayed toward him for a moment. Going in for that kiss Alec never denied him, before he twisted to address the strangers in their home.

Alec loved him so much in that moment, his heart hurt with it. His breath caught and his chest ached and his vision blurred for just a moment. Because Alec would never deny his mate a kiss, and Magnus knew that. If Magnus had reached up those few inches to bring Alec's mouth closer, he would have gone. He would have kissed his mate and he wouldn't have regretted it. But he would have been annoyed that everyone had seen it.

And Magnus knew. Of course, his mate knew. Knew that and accepted that, for now, he wasn't getting any kisses.

"So how about some introductions?" Magnus said, "I'm Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn."

And the entire northeastern United States, High Councilor Warlock of the entire continent, Alec knew. Magnus was powerful and capable, and it was hot.

"This is my daughter, Clary Fray," Luke started.

"Yes, I remember," Magnus nodded.

"We've met?" The girl tilted her head, "I feel like I would have remembered someone so... colorful."

The warlock's smile showed a few more teeth than it had before, "I don't doubt it. But considering you were here to have your memories bound, you can be forgiven the lapse."

"Isabelle Lightwood," Izzy interrupted, stretching out to offer Magnus a handshake. "And these are my brothers Jace Weyland and Alec Lightwood."

"Pleased to meet you," Magnus nodded, accepting the handshake, but stepping back to within touching distance of the Sentinel when he let go. "So who would I be tracking today?"

"It's my mom," Clary blurted, "Jocelyn Fray. She's missing. There was a monster, and the Sentinel said there were three guys! She's in trouble! You gotta help us!"

"Woah, Biscuit," Magnus held up his hands, "hold up. What sentinel?"

Jace swore, and Izzy groaned, Luke just sighed and his fingers to his temples. Alec resisted the urge to smirk.

"Thanks so much, Fray, for airing my personal business." Alec leaned back and put on a show of glaring. No one except him, and Magnus knew the warlock was his mate. All the more reason to make his point, "This would be why we don't tell strangers our deepest secrets, Jace. I wonder how long it'll take before the whole Downworld and the Clave knows the secret I've kept for the last seventeen years."

"Alec, that's not fair," Jace complained.

"I didn't mean to-"

"She doesn't understand-"

"Are you in pain?" Magnus spoke over the others in the room, "I understand being upset of Clarissa, especially because I completely understand the threat of the Clave for those as... unique as Sentinels." Magnus rubbed his fingers together, the hint of magic in the air, "If you're uncomfortable in my home; I can think of several spells that might fix that." He spread his hands in offering, "if you want."

Clary sputtered, "Who cares about him? We're here to find my mom!"

"You've entered the Shadow World, Clarissa, if you want to make any gains toward finding your mother, and not dying, you need to learn the rules." Magnus frowned, "And the most important rules right now include - don't piss off the warlock; I'm more than capable of turning you into a toad."

"Hey!"

"And two, a Sentinel might be sacred to the Nephilim, but they are just as revered by the Downworld. You could easily end up dead in a dumpster for airing that opinion to the wrong person." His mate was hotter than the sun, an attitude honed through centuries as a High Warlock with dark magic sparking from his fingertips. Alec had to shift subtly, hoping that no one noticed how tight his pants had become. "I'll do the tracking spell for your mom, Biscuit. But let me handle the Sentinel first."

Magnus just raised a brow once his attention was back to Alec and the Sentinel just shrugged, "I'm fine."

There were aspects of being a Sentinel that Alec didn't have the words to explain. Maybe if he had access to the Silent Brothers or the Library of Alicante, someone might have already figured out how to describe it. But words weren't Alec's strong suit.

Sometimes, even though all the research he could get his hands on said that Sentinels do not have empathic abilities, Alec was exposed to something that leaves more contamination on his soul than his body. He rarely understood where it came from. Perhaps it was that kid from the apartment, lacing the air with aggression and lust. Or maybe he was just chafing from Clary Fray's ability to turn his siblings from free-thinking individuals to drones.

Yeah, he's really sick of that.

"If you're sure, the offer's open." Magnus nodded slowly, then smirked. "I certainly have no objection to seeing you again, pretty boy."

Alec nearly laughed, always with the pet names. "I'm sure."

The warlock sighed, "Then I guess it's back to tracking. I need something that belonged to Jocelyn. Something that she would have considered hers. The longer it belonged to her, or the more emotion she attached to it, the better."

"She gave me this weird stick thing on my birthday!" Clary grabbed for the carved adamas and blessed crystal from her pocket. "She said it was an heirloom."

"Ah, Biscuit," Magnus hesitated, but he didn't have to worry, Jace snatched it first.

"You can just give someone your stele, Clary." He scowled, "What if you were attacked? Or were called out to assist a patrol?"

"Not to mention warlock magic will not work well with blessed adamas." Magnus snorted, "We'd be lucky if the spell didn't explode."

"Then it's a good thing I grabbed this," Luke said, offering Magnus a well-used paintbrush. "It's Jocelyn's favorite paintbrush. She was just complaining the other day that she needed to replace it."

"She hates that," Clary sighed, eyes a little watery. "Says it takes forever to break in properly."

Magnus fingers the wooden handle, brushing the bristles against his palm before he lets it sit cupped in his hand.

To Alec, there were two types of magic, the kind everyone could see and the kind only he could. A lot of magic was obvious, red sparks and blue sparks and potions that sizzled and popped. But there was even more magic that couldn't be seen, even by those with the Sight. Ward schemes and ley lines and the small fluctuations of power that was more felt than seen whenever a rune was applied. So much more magic existed in the world than even the Clave figured. But Alec knew, he could see it, sometimes feel it, occasionally hear it, or smell it lingering on someone.

Probably the most useful advantage his senses give him.

And he loved watching Magnus do magic. Before even the magic everyone else could see, Alec got to watch the wave of power rise out of his love to enact his will upon the world. It was hotter than sin and unbearably intimate. The Sentinel avoided watching other Warlocks do magic with his sight heightened because he felt strongly that he didn't have a right to those pieces of them.

Only Magnus.

Magnus frowned as he came out of his trance. "It's the Circle. I could see a gathering and what looked like Jocelyn wrapped in a stasis field, but I couldn't get a good grasp of where they were."

Luke swore, "We were afraid of that."

"What does that mean? What is the Circle?" Clary asked, clutching at the paintbrush as though it was more than just a connection to her mother.

"They're terrorists and murderers," Izzy frowned. "There was a war before we would have been born and-"

"And I don't need to hear the textbook editorial on an event I lived through." Magnus frowned down at his watch, "I have another client coming, so I need you all to leave. Well," he swung around to offer his mate a smirk, even if it was a little plastic around the edges, "except you. I would be happy if you wanted to stay and ah, negotiate payment. We could do drinks?"

In the background, Alec could see Jace wrinkling his nose in disgust and Izzy laughing into her hand at the warlock's heavy-handed flirtation. And Alec gave an honest and open smile as he approached his mate.

"Feel free to invoice the Institute," Alec said, stopping just inside Magnus's personal space, holding the door over his head as the group filed out, "But drinks sound good, maybe at another time."

*********

Hodge meets them at the door to the Institute and Alec took a deep breath because that was never a good sign.

"The Auditor arrived."

Fantastic. Exactly what he didn't need in the middle of trying to wrangle the mess that was Clary Fray. "Izzy, I need you to work with Clary. Get her into the system as a trainee and outfit her. Then try to shove as much Clave law in her head as possible. If the Auditor is here, we won't have much wiggle room."

"Not that you ever give us much wiggle room," Izzy said with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, Fray. Just you and me, let's go have some girl time. I know just what will cheer you up."

"Art?"

"Swords! Though the Institute has some great stained glass we can admire on the way."

Clary was glaring over her shoulder at him, and while Alec was glad that Luke had outright told her that cooperating with Alec was the best move going forward, the Acting Head wasn't holding his breath that her cooperation would last long.

"Hey," Jace objected, "I thought we agreed I could take care of Clary?"

"That was before you snuck out the side door like you were still a trainee." Alec replied, "You don't have time to deal with Clary right now. You have to write up an after-action on why you choose not to go through the chain of command. You also have to write up a 4-9b, and a D11. On top of ichor duty and your shift in a couple of hours." Alec offered his dismayed brother a shit-eating grin. "I hope you got enough sleep."

"That will not go well," Hodge offered quietly as they watched Jace storm off.

"Jace upset never ends well," Alec admitted just as quietly, following his second to the cramped back office Hodge had commandeered years ago. There was nothing Alec could do about Jace, though, except pray for a miracle. As Acting Head, Alec couldn't ignore his siblings' inappropriate behavior, no matter how much they wished he would.

"I meant with the other staff." Hodge clarified.

"Christ," Alec rubbed his hands over his face. He was fast approaching the point when he just wouldn't be able to handle it. "They're adults. Jace and Izzy are literally the youngest active duty Shadowhunters in the Institute. Can't they just behave and follow the rules?"

"No, Alec," Hodge sighed, "I meant that they're probably going to take their frustration out on Jace and Izzy. Your staff loves you. There are a few rotten apples but they're watched, and the general consensus of the active-duty Shadowhunters is that if you asked it of them, they would happily march into Edom for you."

Alec gaped.

"Just," Hodge shook his head, got up and walked around his desk to offer Alec a hug. Which, no matter how out of sorts he was, Alec would never turn down. "Just remember that you have more support in this Institute than you would ever imagine. Don't get so wrapped up in your parent's ambition that you forget here is where you belong."

Alec swallowed, "I, uh, need to handle the auditor."

"It's Lydia Branwell," Hodge grimaced. "She's taken over your office."

Apparently, she'd arrived in a rather unusual fashion. Glamoured to appear as Valentine, the Institute had received its first black mark when Ops hadn't moved fast enough to detain him. On one hand, Alec appreciated that. The Institute could probably use more training in handling surprises. They had amazing wards, unique according to Magnus, built layer after layer, but they weren't impervious. Something could get in and how many Shadowhunters would die because they believed the Institute unassailable?

On the other hand, Valentine was supposed to be dead. The Clave ban on the Circle included the likeness and rhetoric of Valentine Morgenstern, so unless they had some reason to go searching, as Alec had, none of the younger staff would have known there was anything wrong with a surprise visit. And finally, Hodge would have known it wasn't Valentine.

Alec didn't bother knocking. It was his office, and perhaps it would have been respectful, but the Sentinel would not give the Auditor an inch he didn't have to. So he calmly opened the door, hung his weapons on the rack, and then shrugged out of his jacket. Lydia Branwell was watching with something of a frown on her face. Tension across her shoulders and the tightening at the corners of her mouth. A sour smell was rising into the air.

Perhaps, if she hadn't been sitting behind his desk without his permission, Alec might have felt a little bad about using his senses against her. As it stood, the woman was an interloper. More of an opponent than an ally, but still not an enemy.

Not yet, at least.

He said nothing as he took a seat in front of the desk, slouching just a little in a way he normally wouldn't but, well, these chairs weren't meant for people of his height.

"It's polite to knock," Branwell finally broke the silence. "And ask permission before sitting."

"It's not polite to invite yourself into someone's office without asking." Alec replied steadily, "If you were looking for space, Hodge would have been happy to show you to one of our empty offices. Or there's a lounge in the south wing with an excellent stained glass window of the Judgement of Jonathan Shadowhunter. I'm sure you would enjoy that."

"I like this office. It has a great chair." The auditor smirked, "No need to worry about the security of your documents. I have level 5 clearance through the Inquisitor's office."

"Except the Institute's personnel records." Alec pointed out, "According to the Herondale Precedent of 1985, Institute Heads, even Acting Heads, cannot be required to share with the Clave any reports still within their grace period, any Institute-specific materials concerning its operations deemed sensitive, or personnel documentation not specifically requested through a Report for Discipline or Commendation form. So, no, you don't actually have clearance to go through the Head's office and rifle through the drawers."

"Well," Branwell shut her laptop and relaxed back into the chair, "your Institute might not be at the top of it's game, but you certainly are. If your father is as accomplished as you are, Commander Lightwood, we'll be happy to see him in the Inquisitor's office."

"Just so." Alec actually figured that the last person he wanted in the Inquisitor's office was his father. Or maybe his mother.

His parents had earned their status as the confidantes of Valentine Morgenstern. Alec wasn't convinced the elder Lightwoods weren't corrupt on the inside. His experience growing up certainly hadn't suggested they'd changed their minds.

"Then I think I should go request that office from Hodge. Maybe check out that window," She offered a polite smile, but there was still something fake in her scent. So Alec just nodded as she left the office.

For a moment, Alec let himself just sit and wonder if his life would look the same at the end of this gauntlet. He had the auditor from the Inquisitor who was bound to second guess his every move. His father in Idris lobbying for the position of Deputy Inquisitor, and Alec wondered if he wanted Robert Lightwood to have that much power. Then there was Fray with her inability to follow directions and the insane way his siblings just followed her directions. Magnus should have checked her for magic. And now, lurking in the back of every thought was the looming threat of the Circle.

But what could he do except his duty? Alec stood and swayed as the room swirled around him. For a moment, Alec wondered what spell had been triggered before with a stumble over to the office couch, he realized it was just exhaustion. His eyes were already closing when he heard the door open, and the soft pad of footsteps approaching the couch.

Alec could smell his second and vaguely murmured a question as the older man stretched the blanket over him.

"Sleep, Alec." Hodge whispered, "I've got the watch."

*********

The door to the office burst open, breaking the sense ward, and Alec rolled to his feet, blinking sleep from his eyes, blade already in hand. He stared at the three Shadowhunters standing startled in his office and groaned, "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"It's an emergency," Clary huffed, "I got a call from Dot. She escaped and got somewhere safe; she knows where my mom is!"

"Dot?" Alec blinked, something here wasn't right.

"The warlock who worked with Jocelyn," Izzy offered. "Dorothea Rollins."

He didn't know anything about Dorothea Rollins; he would, as soon as he could place a call to Magnus, his mate would tell him anything he could remember of this warlock. Which was less than helpful with this group of children still taking up space in his office.

"Okay," Alec sighed, "We need to make a mission plan, just in case, Jace talk to Hodge. If he approves it, we'll use it. Izzy, start going over equipment and three more Shadowhunters to make a full party. Preferably, from our experienced staff, younger than our parents. Fray, I'm going to need Dorothea Rollins's phone number."

"I'm not giving it to you!" Clary looked absolutely horrified at the idea. "You're a Shadowhunter!"

"News flash princess, so are you." Alec was so completely done with this girl and her delusional right to be a pain in his ass, "I've never hurt a warlock, your mother wouldn't be able to say the same." He snatched the phone from her hand, ignoring her outrage, and jerked his head to the door. "Now get the hell out of my office."

**~ Part Three ~**

Magnus had a client when Alec showed up at the warlock's door. He could hear a faint conversation about impotence, which gave Alec secondhand embarrassment through the door. But it only lasted a moment before the Sentinel was reminded of what his siblings had done.

He was so sick of their immature attitude. 'I'm an adult,' Izzy would shout. 'I've killed more demons than you' Jace would sneer. But who has to do their paperwork, their payroll, covers for their asses? Alec, that's who. And do they listen to him when he raises concerns? When he points out the very obvious flaws in their logic? When he wanted to follow protocol?

No. Of course not. He's a stick in the mud.

Angel, sometimes he hated his siblings.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Chen," Magnus said as he saw his latest client out the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Bane."

Alec blinked back into focus once the client was already entering the elevator. "Hey, _Papi_."

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Magnus smiled, leaning up against the threshold. "Didn't think I'd see more than text messages out of you for weeks."

Alec frowned, stepped forward and pushed the warlock back into his own loft, closing the door behind him. He tucked his nose against Magnus's pulse and pet one hand down his love's side and back up under his shirt. "The troublesome threesome are missing again."

Magnus groaned, thumping his forehead against Alec's collarbone. "When we get them back, I'm going to put them all in time out."

"I figured I'd ground them," Alec said casually, moving his love back one step at a time until they collapsed onto the couch in a pile of limbs and soft kisses. "If they want to continue to behave like children, then I'll treat them like children."

"Ooh," Magnus laughed, "Hodge's rune?"

"Yeah," Alec said, failing to resist the skin that was just so temptingly displayed right next to his lips. He pressed a dry kiss to it, then nipped.

"Alec," Magnus squirmed, "shouldn't we be - ah, tracking your siblings?"

"Later," Alec said, letting his hands wander. "Right now, the only thing I want is you."

When it was later, and Magnus was pressing his hand up against Alec's parabatai rune, trying to track the Sentinel's missing siblings, Alec couldn't help but huff still.

"He's my parabatai, we're supposed to be battle partners, but more often I feel like I'm his babysitter."

"I know, _sayang_. Maybe when all of this is over, when they're ground for all eternity, you can talk to him about it." Magnus leaned forward and left a kiss on his cheek, "He'll certainly be a captive audience."

Alec shook his head, "I'll be lucky if the idiot doesn't swing his sword at me."

"He swings his sword at you I fully expect you to swing back, Alexander." Magnus's gaze was hard and unforgiving the few seconds that Alec could meet them, "I'm not letting you leave this world a second before I have to, do you understand?"

"Yeah, _Papi,_ I understand." Alec took a deep breath and reached up to cradle his mate's face in his hands, taking a slow sipping kiss from his lips. "Did you find him?"

Eyes closed, Magnus nodded close enough to his love that Alec felt it instead of saw it. The Sentinel let his mate have the moment, holding him close and sharing his breath. Eventually, the warlock leaned back, "Chernobyl. There in Chernobyl."

"Seriously?" Alec leaned back in to kiss his mate, one last time before they separated to prepare for their rescue mission. "Who did they even call to get out there? The circle's hiding out in an abandoned base in the middle of nowhere Siberia; they certainly didn't take a plane!"

Magnus hummed, "You said Biscuit received a message from Dot? She'd be more than powerful enough to travel that distance. Especially, if they were willing to make the trip a little rough."

The last thing Alec wanted to do was hurt his mate, but it would be worse if Magnus didn't know. "I wanted them to wait because I wasn't convinced that it wasn't a trap."

"A shapeshifter?" Magnus frowned, "I don't know that a shapeshifter could hold her form and cast the magic at the same time."

"Or she could be possessed. Or bespelled." Alec shook his head there were too many options. "Just be on your guard." He snuck another quick kiss in, "I couldn't live without you."

Magnus smiled softly as he cast the portal, "Once more into the fray."

Alec snorted, "No. Not funny."

They quietly came out into an empty back street. Magnus skipped ahead of him, pressing a quick lighthearted kiss to Alec's cheek as he passed, "It really was."

With his back against the wall and his mate guarding their front, Alec took a minute to search for the heartbeat more familiar than his own. His parabatai was around here somewhere, Alec should be able to hear him.

It was smell first, just as it almost always was. Cutting through the decay and rot and the itchy tingly scent of something just as insubstantial as magic, was the disgusting floral aroma of Fray's perfume. In his mind, Alec piggybacked sound to scent as he followed it down the street and into what sounded like a corner store where two broken windows allowed the crosswind to catch it.

There was Jace's heartbeat.

"I never intended to hurt your mother, Clarissa. Your mother," the voice sighed, "she was always dramatic, never quite on an even keel. I always wanted to reunite the two of you. There was no need for all of this violence."

Alec tapped Magnus to move forward until they were just feet away from the broken windows.

"Then- then why take her? Why attack us at all?" Clary asked plaintively.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's nothing personal. Jocelyn just has something of mine that I want back. Once you give it to me, I'd be happy to let her go. Let all of you go." There was something weird about that voice. Something about how it echoed.

"What do you want?"

"The Mortal Cup, of course."

Alec set his arrow on the bow, two more in his hand, and slid out from behind his mate just far enough. He wanted to kiss the warlock one last time, in hopes that it wasn't the last time, but he knew exactly how tempting his mate was. Magnus was like heaven, the taste of his mouth, his skin; the feel of his body pressed up against Alec's was what he lived for. And in the moments before a battle, it was far too distracting to indulge in. So, Alec took a deep breath and stepped out from cover just as his mate did.

There were five Circle members ringed around the room, one of which should be Valentine, while his family knelt in the dead dust of Chernobyl in the center. Three of them were dead in the first dozen heartbeats.

One arrow went wide as a sword cut it in half.

Izzy had gotten one hand out of her cuffs and rolled to her feet to snap her whip out in defense of the three others kneeling.

Magnus flung one of the Circle into the wall and when his head cracked against the cinderblock, he didn't get up again.

Alec proved the quicker draw than the man with the crossbow. One bolt shot down with one arrow, and Alec sent his next through his enemy's eye.

At the end, there were three dead by arrows, one by collision with the wall, and one with a broken neck from Izzy's whip. As Magnus went to check on Dot, slumped by the wall, a crossbow bolt through her shoulder, Alec turned his attention to the Shadowhunters he rescued.

"Oh my god, did you break the handcuffs?" Clary asked, staring at Izzy with wide eyes from her flop on the cement.

"What? No?" Izzy tossed her hair back over her shoulder, "I dislocated my thumb."

"People actually do that?"

"How'd you find us?" Jace scowled at the hand Alec offered, but took it anyway.

"We tracked you numbskull," Alec rolled his eyes, "it wasn't like you left us a fucking note."

"You weren't going to let us go!"

"We had a plan!" Clary interrupted, hissing as Izzy placed an iratze on her wrist. The skin the metal had touched was red and irritated.

Alec looked around at the mess of bodies, radioactive dirt, and handcuffs and nodded, "Yeah, because your plan worked so well."

Magnus sighed and reached out and closed Dot's eyes. "Farewell, old friend."

"She's dead?" Clary gasped.

"The bolt nicked her heart," Magnus shook his head, "She probably bled out in moments."

Alec nodded, unsurprised. He hadn't been able to hear her heartbeat, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. But warlocks were hardy people. Alec wouldn't have counted her out himself. "Where's Valentine? Wasn't he here?"

"It was some sort of astral projection." Izzy frowned, "He could see and hear us, and we could see and hear him, but he wasn't actually there."

"Fuck," Alec sighed. And just at the edge of his hearing, he caught the scrambling sound of something. Pressing a hand into his Parabatai's shoulder to keep him grounded, Alec stretched out further and then further still, catching not the sound of heartbeats or breathing, but the scrambling of something large disrupting dirt and debris. "Shit, Magnus. Time to go!"

"Alec?" Izzy clenched her whip and Jace pulled a Seraph blade from one body. "What do you hear?"

"Nothing good." Alec took Dot's body from his mate, no matter how uncomfortable he was with it, and jerked his head to the wall. "We gotta go, now."

They tumbled through to the Brooklyn loft, Clary bumping into Izzy and falling into Jace from how they'd shoved her through the portal. So that the three of them ended up in a pile of bloody dirty radioactive Shadowhunters on Magnus's priceless antique Persian rug.

Alec scowled down at the Fray girl, not taken in at all by her wide eyes and the trembling lip. “Let's be clear, Fray, this definitely does not qualify as cooperation.”

"Oh, come on, Alec!" Jace scowled, "It's not Clary's fault, she just wants to find her mom!"

"Because you'd be so invested in Jocelyn Fray's life if Clary wasn't involved?" Alec glared at his sputtering parabatai, "Let's play a game, Fray."

"A game?" The teary-eyed girl met him glare for glare, "Right now? Dot is dead and you want to play a game?!"

"Yeah," Alec nodded, "I want to know exactly how stupid you are-"

"Alec!" Izzy threw her shoe at him, but he dodged. "That's not nice!"

"You want to know what also isn't nice? Lying." Alec frowned down at the defiant child still sitting on the floor. "So, your mother is missing and you have no idea what's happened. Forget the shadow world. What do you do?"

"I look for her!"

"You look for her?" Alec raised a brow, "Really? Or do you go down to the police and fill out a missing person's report?" Clary hesitated. "What happens if your mother was involved in the Mob? She ran away when you were still a baby, has done everything she can to protect you, but somehow they find her and get her back. They have your mother. They have weapons, they have power and influence, and they're not afraid to use it. What do you do?"

Alec absently noted the silence of the loft had grown as he stared at Clary. "Come on, Fray, what do you do?"

"I don't know, alright?!"

"You mean you don't follow an informant you didn't even know was involved in the Mob into an unfamiliar place without a plan?" Alec crossed his arms, "Why the hell aren't you cooperating with me?"

"I don't trust you," Clary sneered.

"Tough shit." Alec said finally, "You don't have anyone else."

"Um, hey!" Jace protested, "She has me, and Izzy!"

This wasn't the first time Alec and his parabatai had disagreed, though it was the longest-lasting and most serious of those incidents. The Sentinel couldn't help but wonder if Jace had ever put him first, the way Alec had before Magnus. The way Alec always put his family ahead of everything except his mate. He doubted it.

There was a knock on the door.

"You and Izzy are going to be grounded for a small age." Alec retorted, watching his mate approach the door. He shifted for a better vantage, just in case of trouble. "For all eternity if I have anything to say about it, which I will. You not only lied to me, your brother, but you also disobeyed the orders of the Head of your Institute and went on another unsanctioned mission!" Jace grit his teeth and Izzy flinched, "If you're lucky you won't be gray before I remove it!"

"What's next? So my Mom's a prisoner of this Circle, and they want this Mortal Cup thing." Clary sniffled, swiping a tissue from the box conveniently placed with her reach. "How do we get it?"

Luke was in the doorway, eyes wide and lips already turning into a frown. "So Valentine has Jocelyn? And he wants the Cup?" He shook his head as he entered and hung his coat on the rack. "How did you find out?"

"Well," Izzy began.

"It doesn't matter. Because we're not giving Valentine the cup." Alec interrupted flatly, moving toward the armchair that was always his in Magnus's lair. "First, the Mortal cup is missing, it has been for over two decades; second, you cannot possibly be thinking of ransoming someone by giving their captor exactly what they want?!"

"I'm with hot stuff here." Magnus leaned his hip up against the chair, letting his expressive fingers drag against the Sentinel's skin subtly. "I'm sorry your mother is missing, Biscuit, but the last thing this world needs is Valentine capable of making anyone a Shadowhunter. So not a good idea." Magnus smiled brightly, "Great that this is a non-issue since it's missing."

"Joselyn had it," Luke said, speaking up from where he'd settled next to his daughter. "I don't know where she hid it, but I know she had it."

Magnus gave a full-body groan, dramatically using his whole body, and Alec had to stifle a smile. "You know what? This calls for alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol."

Alec bit back the _Papi_ that was seconds away from slipping his tongue to cough and complain, "It's three in the afternoon. Isn't it a little early for alcohol?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Magnus rolled his eyes but snapped a tea tray into existence on the table. Complete with muffins and scones. "But just for you, we can do it Irish."

"You think they already have it?" Izzy asked, reaching out and pouring a healthy serving of whiskey into her teacup. "Why ask for it then?"

"Maybe they don't know they have it?" Clary frowned, grabbing a small plate of finger food to share with her father as Luke poured and doctored their tea.

Jace grabbed a muffin, filled his teacup with just alcohol, and said, "It could be a head game. Offer you hope but secretly, they have all the cards."

Alec didn't want to say it, but the stench of hopelessness and sorrow was just about making him gag. Magnus's proximity and the sweet smell of his favorite tea rising from the cup on the arm of the chair were just about the only things keeping him from throwing up.

"As much as I hate to support this idea," Alec scrunched his nose, "It's not likely they already have the cup."

"How do you know?" Clary jumped on it, desperate for hope.

"Who's the Sentinel?" Alec was completely unimpressed with the girl's inability to rub two thoughts together. "I followed the scent trail through the apartment, barely anything was touched. If they'd found what they were looking for, there would have been traces of the reaction, satisfaction, or greed, or euphoria. I can tell a lot from a scent pile." He scowled, "Far more than you want to know."

Izzy bit her lip, there'd been a very awkward incident when she'd started menstruating that Alec would honestly prefer to never think about again. Ever. His sister delicately placed the teacup back on the coffee table. "So all we need to do is find the Mortal Cup before they do."

"How do you expect to do that? We have no idea where it might be." Magnus side-eyed the were-wolf, "Unless you have a clue, Lucian?"

"It could be in Clary's memories," Luke admitted. He turned to his daughter when Clary startled. "You encountered the Shadow World several times while your mother was in hiding. She had your memories taken," he nodded toward the Warlock who had-somehow-stealthily settled himself nearly onto the Sentinel's lap with no one making a fuss. "Magnus did it, so I know it was done well."

"I want them back!" Clary immediately shouted, and Alec watched as a twitch of the Warlock's finger had the dark hot liquid freezing in the air where it was spilt from the cup. "There could be a clue! You had no right-!"

Magnus frowned, first at the liquid before vanishing it and then at the very inhospitable guest Clary had turned into. "It's not a matter of right, I did what your mother paid me for; besides, it's going to be a little more complicated than that."

"They belong to me! If they have a clue about the Mortal Cup then I need them!"

Magnus took a deep breath, "Biscuit, you need to learn to listen. I wasn't being dramatic when I said it would be a little complicated. I fed your memories to a demon. If we want them back, we're going to have to summon it and then arrange a new bargain, and the demon could ask for almost anything and we'd have to give it. A memory. A secret." Magnus shrugged, "I support you getting your memories back, but it's something that we can't just jump right into."

"And I won't be able to do it with you," Luke said with a sad smile. "Werewolves can't take part in this kind of magic."

"Oh," Clary blinked, tears blurring her eyes.

"You wouldn't be alone," Izzy jumped in, elbowed Jace with a huff. "We'd be here to help. And I know you don't like him, but Alec is great at this sort of stuff, and Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn!"

And High Warlock of the entire northeastern United States, High Councilor Warlock of the entire continent, Alec repeated to himself.

"There's no one better," Magnus agreed, "It's in the job description."

Alec wondered if that was literal.

Of course, Clary took the chance. As she kept saying, she'd do anything to get her mother back. So, when Luke pressed a kiss to the crown of his daughter's head and Magnus pressed his siblings into moving furniture and pulling up carpets. Alec took a step away and called Hodge for an update. The loft had a great balcony with an amazing view of Brooklyn and a truly spectacular set of wards that would keep both his conversation and his senses safe.

There wasn't much he could do from the loft in Brooklyn, especially not about to participate in a summoning ritual, but he would at least be aware of any brewing problems. If Raziel was just, he had all the trouble right here with him.

"Hodge." The weapons master answered abruptly, and in the background, the Sentinel could just briefly hear the strident tones of a woman shouting.

"It's Alec." The Sentinel said, "I'm stuck at the High Warlock's lair; how are things at the Institute?"

"Branwell staged a coup," Hodge said blandly, and Alec heard a couple of doors open and close. "She barely waited until you were out of the office to call the Inquisitor."

Alec frowned, "What were her reasons?"

"A recent history of incompetent decisions. It's a list of shit that starts with leaving a former Circle member serving a lifetime sentence as the Acting Head of the Institute."

"I trust you, Hodge." Alec sighed, "It's just too bad that everyone else doesn't know what I do."

"It's for a good reason." Hodge assured, "No way do I want you doing anything you're uncomfortable with just to yell at the Inquisitor. I have done nothing wrong and they know it."

"What else was on her list?"

"The shoddy paperwork from Fray's 'emergency missions'. Not to mention the ongoing disregard Fray shows your leadership. Branwell said that your tolerance of her behavior either indicated unpalatable favoritism or a weak will, unsuitable for the Head of an Institute."

Alec refused to sigh, but he did close his eyes and rub at the tension building in his temples. "She didn't say anything like that at our meeting."

"Not surprised." Hodge admitted, "I think they're looking for any reason to deny Robert the Deputy Inquisitor position. Well, they definitely have your parents' attention. They're due to arrive this evening."

"Oh Angel, what a mess." Alec sighed.

"Orders, sir?"

"Try to limit the damage as much as possible. You've had the authority to approve training and patrol schedules and inventory requests for years. Maryse signed off on it first, so if they say anything about it, throw her at them."

"Will do," Hodge snorted, "And Jacobs?"

Jacobs was a special case. If Alec thought about it, most of the active-duty Shadowhunters at the New York Institute were special. Koel was transferred in about a year ago, on request that Maryse 'straighten him out'; which was the height of irony because Smith followed him within months and Alec could smell their relationship on their skin. Alessio had trouble reading and been turned out from four different Institutes for bad reports before Izzy sat her down with a voice-to-text software. Hodge and his parents weren't the only former Circle members, and while Alec watched, he wasn't paranoid.

Jacobs wasn't a former Circle member, likely only because of his age. Instead, he was a thick-headed idiot who enjoyed slipping his hands where they weren't wanted. He was one wrong attempt away from losing his hands. Alec honestly couldn't wait.

In the meantime, they were very careful who they partnered him with on patrol.

"Sassia still laid up with that broken leg?"

"Yeah, Brother Zachariah said he needed another week off of it."

"Alright, pair Jacobs with Darkwater. Let that asshole break his teeth against Obediah. He won't let Jacobs get away with anything."

Hodge snorted, "I'll be lucky to escape the debrief without a play-by-play recap."

"And Hodge, let Underhill give the Orders." It was gross that this subterfuge was necessary, but he knew his chosen second would understand.

"It's a good choice," Hodge eventually said. "And now that my update's over, want to tell me how you ended up at the High Warlock's?"

Alec offered the older man a recap of the last couple of hours that ended with, "So now we're going to summon a demon hoping Fray's memories have the secret to Jocelyn Fairchild's hiding place."

"Well," Hodge finally responded, "Branwell certainly can't turn you away if you show up with it in hand."

"Don't jinx us." Alec growled, "they'll probably arrest us for treason or something."

"Then I suggest you hurry up and find that cup."

Magnus poked his head out, "You done out here? We're ready to begin inside."

"Yeah," Alec nodded, "I'll follow you in."

**~ Part Four ~**

Alec took the empty spot on the pentagram beside his mate, the only position he would ever take in Magnus's summoning circle. If his mate ever needed his strength, Alec would hate to be across the circle from him. He gently squeezed Magnus's hand and tucked the warlock's answering smile into a place deep in his heart; where he kept his mate safe from the world.

"Remember, whatever you do, don't let go." And with everyone in place, Magnus started the summoning. The demonic language was rough and guttural, sounding in both the frequencies mundane ears could hear and also on a wavelength just outside the capacity of everyone else. It echoed slightly off in his ears, and Alec could feel it rumble in his bones.

He turned his head in the last minute, letting his eyes unfocus just the slightest, hoping to catch—Yes, there he was. Shadowing Magnus with his height was the there-and-gone glimpse of his mate's immortal soul. A towering figure with too many limbs, too many teeth, and too wide eyes. And a set of halo-turned-horns, born broken, twisted, and curled. He was beautiful, Alec only wished he could see him more frequently than the once a year chance the Sentinel had to join his mate in the man's ritual circle.

"Magnus Bane," Came the corrupt hiss from the center of the circle as demonic magic pushed and Magnus pushed back.

But Alec also heard the bone shivering, "Morfran."

"Valak," And Magnus's words came from two throats and two voices, even if Alec couldn't see his mate's soul anymore. "I've summoned you for a deal."

"Of course, you do." Valak's form was that of a column of dark smoke with dozens of red eyes staring out at from within. He spun menacingly, "What do you want, Morfran?"

"A decade ago I gave you the memories of a Nephilim child named Clarissa Morgenstern," Magnus didn't even flinch, but Alec could see that across the circle Jace and Izzy had to tighten their hands to keep Fray from letting go. "I want them back. What's your price"

"But they were so tasty," the demon hissed, "why should I give them back to you when they've kept me fed for years?"

Magnus shot the demon an unimpressed look, "I'm not giving you a choice."

The threatening column of smoke and hate spun closer to the edge of the circle. Sparks of red magic flashed like lightning as the demonic power pressed against it.

"Prince you might be," Came that hissing voice Alec had to dial up his hearing to catch, "but all powerful you are not."

The Sentinel could feel the strain it placed on his mate, and Alec was so close to crossing the circle's barrier. The only thing that stopped him was the grip Magnus had on his hand, and the bloom of warmth that meant he was drawing on Alec's strength. And he was happy to give it.

"How long will you last, Morfran?" Valak loomed closer and under the overwhelming stench of the memory demon, Alec could smell Magnus starting to sweat. Even borrowing from the Sentinel's strength, the other man was straining to keep the Major demon contained. "How long before you break and I consume everything that you are the same Asmodeus consumed your name?"

Alec snarled. He couldn't help it. He wouldn't - couldn't stand by as this demon threatened his mate. Their connection was not one sided and when Alec stole just the smallest piece of magic, Magnus gave it freely.

He wrapped it around himself, and spoke with his mate's authority, letting the Warlock focus his attention back on the fraying bonds. "Valak, if you somehow manage to break free, know that there's nowhere in the world that could hide you from me."

"Son of Michael!" Valak snarled back, but the demon also moved back from the barrier and it gave Magnus a needed moment to catch his breath. "What is one of you kind doing here?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Magnus said, taking back control. "The memories Valak. Before I banish you somewhere very uncomfortable."

The swirling vortex of hate hissed, the glowing eyes burning red in the smoke, "A precious memory from each of you of a loved one. That is my price."

Clary opened her mouth to object, but Magnus didn't let her. "Agreed."

Starting with Magnus, the demon took a memory from each of the members of the circle, working clockwise. The warlock lost a memory of a child. Dark hair and skin with a broad smile and laughter like bells as Magnus lifted him high overhead. Izzy lost a memory of Jace; his hand was wrapped around her as the older child guided the swing of her arm and the destination of the whip.

Clary cringed and leaned away from the demon, even as Valak stole the thread of memory from her head. An enormous canvas leaned up against the wall and laughter echoed strangely in the memory as the two redheaded women threw balloons. Splattering against the canvas in an explosion of color.

She sagged and a flash of fury rose in Alec's gut—that Fray was going to cost them all this work—but Jace and Izzy held firm until the girl could stand again.

Moving on to Jace, the swordsman looked pale as a thread of memory was pulled from him. For a moment, Alec wasn't sure there was even anything in it, before he made out the varying greys of Jace's room at the Institute. It was dark and the only sound they could hear was sniffling as a much smaller Alec shuffled an even smaller boy over in the bed and climbed in behind him.

Oh. Alec remembered that. It had been less than a week after his father had brought Jace back from Idris, and even several rooms away, Alec had heard his new brother crying. He hadn't been able to help wanting to comfort Jace.

The Sentinel let the anger burning inside of him bank at the reminder that his parabatai and he had weathered harder storms than Clary Fray's immaturity. Alec squeezed his brother's hand. It wouldn't stop him from grounding Jace's ass, but maybe he wouldn't wait until they were grey and feeble before letting them out again.

Maybe.

Valak had finally made his way to Alec's place in the circle, last before he fulfilled their agreement, and Magnus could banish his intangible ass back to where he came from. The column of smoke leaned right up into the barrier that separated him from Alec and hissed.

"Son of Michael, what secrets will you share?"

Alec could feel the tug as his disgusting demonic energy burrowed under his skin and tugged, tugged, tugged at his memories. It was a hungry, greedy, violent thing, and it wanted so much of Alec. But the Sentinel was not without his own protections.

He snarled back at the revolting thing that was encroaching on his space and shoved the magic back at the demon. It took nothing more than what it was promised.

It was the inner courtyard of the Institute, but the apple tree Alec could see hadn't been around in years. Hodge was crouched down in front of an Alec young enough Izzy might not have been born yet. The big man reached out with one large palm to cradle the side of Alec's face and with a small smile said in a whisper, "One day, Alec, you're going to be the best of us; I promise."

Valak gives the appearance, even without a body, of being unwillingly satisfied. He spun threateningly close to Alec's Mate and their tightly clasped hands whiten. The demon pressed up against the barrier in an explosion of red and black sparks of magic, before swirling around the circle to fling a ball of magic at Clary Fray.

The girl screamed and dropped to the floor. Valak screeched in delight and the circle wavered as arms and hands jerked. Then Magnus shouted, and Alec caught sight of his mate's soul for the second time that night. With a tidal wave of power, Magnus banished Valak just in time for Jace to lose his balance and fall into Clary.

There was a puff of black smoke, the eerie sound of reality tearing, and the brief smell of sulfur before Alec even realized his brother had let go.

"Magnus, the demon-"

"Banished. Completely." The warlock reassured, "I was slamming so much power into him Valak is going to be lucky enough to remember his own name, let alone that he might have escaped."

"Hey," Alec pressed into his mate's space, laying a kiss on the hinge of his jaw. "So you're pretty badass."

Magnus blinked as his tired mind tried to process what Alec was saying before he burst into laughter, "Yeah, _sayang_. I'm pretty badass."

Alec let his smile curve up as he buried his nose in Magnus's neck and his hands under the Warlock's shirt. "How are you?"

"Tired." The older man sighed, "In desperate need of a nap and a martini. Or at least a steak and some cuddles." Alec hummed, and Magnus dragged his head up to meet his lips. It was a sweet meeting of lips, not rushed or particularly arousing. They were both too tired for that. Just a sweet welcoming of love. Something in Alec's core relaxed at the tingle of magic where Magnus touched him.

_Oh, hello again_ , his soul seemed to say to Magnus's, _I've missed you._

"How are you?" Magnus said, breaking the kiss but not moving any further away. His lips brushed Alec's as he spoke.

"I think I need brain bleach honestly." Alec sighed, resting his forehead against his mate's. "That demon was revolting."

Magnus laughed but didn't move out of Alec's arms. "I don't even want to know what you could pick up from that miserable excuse of power."

"I wish I didn't either," Alec huffed, finally letting go of his mate so the man could move to his alcohol cart.

"Clary? Clary, are you okay?" Jace stood with Fray in his arms, and glared at Magnus, "What did you do to her?"

"Seriously?" Magnus huffed, sipping at his martini. "I did nothing you didn't ask me to."

"Jace, you need to breathe." Izzy interrupted, "Magnus didn't do anything. You're letting your panic over Clary's condition cloud your judgment." She waited until he'd taken a couple of slow breaths before continuing. "I'm sure she'll be okay."

"Of course, she'll be fine." Magnus rolled his eyes. "Jocelyn had me take memories for years, it's going to take Biscuit a while to process all of those memories. But she's just asleep, Chase, calm down."

"She'll be fine?" Izzy clarified and at Magnus's nod smacked her brother, "See Jace, Clary just needs to sleep it off."

"So portal us back to the Institute and we'll be out of your hair!" Jace growled, cradling Fray closer.

"That'd be great, except we can't go back to the Institute." Alec said, "I spoke with Hodge before the summoning, and Branwell has taken over the Institute. We're wanted for questioning, and odds are good if we go back now they probably wouldn't let us out for the foreseeable future."

"They can't do that!" Izzy shook her head, "They'd at least need to give us a trial."

"Except that this is the third black mark against us in the past week." Alec frowned, "The paperwork for at least two of these missions were questionably filled, and this is the third time we've hired a warlock unauthorized. Not to mention bringing a mundane to the Institute. These are offenses to the combat readiness of the Institute. Not only could they revoke my authority as Acting Head, but they could lock us up and throw away the key without a qualm."

"They can't do that!" Izzy scowled, "Even mundanes have rules about imprisoning innocents!"

"We're not mundane." Alec said, looking at his sister incredulously. "We belong to the Clave."

"If you just told them you were a Sentinel, this wouldn't be a problem." Jace snarled as he carefully laid Clary down on Magnus's couch.

Alec was certain where to start with that absolutely ridiculous statement. With his brother's impression that Alec was responsible for his parabatai's crimes or the idea that being a sentinel could just wipe away crimes. Alec surely hoped that wasn’t true. “How many times am I supposed to ignore your blatant disregard for my secrets, Jace? Sharing one of the most private pieces of information I have with anyone and everyone?”

"‘One of the most’?" Izzy frowned, "I thought you were better about your sexuality now, hermano?"

Magnus rolled his eyes, "he means me, sweetheart. He means his relationship with me."

"You know, since a threat to him would probably literally send me straight to murder and treason, no second thoughts." Alec considered reaching for a knife at just the thought of a threat, but Magnus plopped himself down in his lap.

"No murder in the loft, _sayang_." Magnus purred, "I'd hate to get blood out of these carpets."

"You love me more than your stupid rugs." He flinched at the nasty pinch that earned him.

The two Nephilim blinked. Jace scowled, "Your mate is-"

"Sparkly!" Izzy interrupted loudly, not even hiding it as she gave Jace a hard punch in the shoulder. "Very sparkly, I would've never guessed you'd go for someone with such amazing taste in fashion, Alec."

Magnus offered his sister a brilliant smile, "Isabelle, you can use the Master bath, first door on the right. Chase, there's a guest bath at the end of the hall." He snapped with a little bleed of magic, "fresh clothes and toiletries should be waiting on the sink."

"Thank you, Magnus," Izzy smiled as she shoved her brother down the hall. "Getting out of these clothes will be such a relief."

Magnus let his smile fall as the sound of his sibling's bickering faded down the hall, relaxing back into Alec's body, "Can I get you anything, darling?"

"No thanks," Alec tightened his arms around his mate, "just let me hold you."

"Sure? I could snap you up that peppermint mocha monstrosity you love." Magnus brought his fingers together but Alec caught them and kissed them.

" _Papi_ ," The sentinel kissed the fingertips again, refusing to let go when Magnus tugged. "Who was he?"

The warlock blinked rapidly, but it didn't keep the Sentinel from seeing his tears, "Razi."

"Who was he, Magnus?" Alec asked quietly, pulling them back to the overstuffed armchair in the corner, Magnus curled up on his lap just the way Alec wanted him.

"He was my son," Magnus said softly, "My beautiful boy."

Alec's heart hurt for the old pain in his mate's voice. "Tell me about him?"

"He was a warlock child." Magnus finally said, turning his head into Alec's chest. "He'd been left at a church a hundred years ago. The local reverend was a werewolf," He said with a small grin, "And he'd reached out to the downworld to find a home for the boy. Ragnor was the High Warlock at the time, and while he's an excellent teacher, he's not a father. Hates infants, honestly."

"But you love them." Alec said, his thoughts going to that small bundle of pink skin and scales that was the sweetest little girl. Angel above, Alec hoped Charlotte had many years ahead of her before she lost her grandparents, but Magnus loved nothing so much as a soft, vulnerable form willing to snuggle down and accept kisses. Alec doesn't blame him. "You'd never turn away a child in need of a home, especially not a warlock. What happened?"

"He's dead." Magnus admits quietly, "been dead for decades now."

Alec tightened his hold on his love, "Nephilim? The Circle?"

Magnus snorted and turned watery but mirthful eyes up to Alec, "No. His own damn curiosity did him in. He summoned a greater demon, and I only found out he was dead when my father visited me with the grave news."

Alec couldn't help but smirk, "First time you banished Asmodeus?"

"No." Magnus cuddled closer, "Why do you think the idiot still killed him? Some bullshit excuse about releasing me from the bounds of 'this wretched mortal coil'. Hasn't bothered me since though."

"Wow." Alec blinked, "Asmodeus really doesn't understand you."

"He never has," Magnus said, picking up Alec's left hand and playing with the ring finger. Alec had promised him once, years ago, that one day he'd wear his mate's ring there. That day just wasn't today. "Yours was Hodge, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Alec said quietly. He knew Magnus didn't really approve of his relationship with the weapons master. And he knew Hodge didn't like that his mate, the reason he had so much more freedom than any Sentinel they could look up, was a warlock. But neither attempted to push Alec about it, for which he was more than thankful. "It's not like its new information, Robert and Maryse aren't exactly parent of the year contestants. They're more like my bosses. Even now, knowing we've been missing at least a day, they hadn't even bothered to even try getting in touch." Alec lightly pet his mate, Magnus laying a sweet kiss on his shoulder. "Even if they marked us missing - presumed dead, and we showed back up the first words out of their mouths would probably still be insults."

Magnus said nothing, just laid another sweet kiss on his shoulder, and Alec really appreciated it. Neither of them had stellar parental figures and on better days Alec got a laugh or two out of lumping Robert and Maryse of one of the founding Nephilim families in the same category as a Prince of Hell.

Alec knew what people thought about Hodge, how the first thing they saw and the last thing they dismissed was the circle rune on his neck. But It was Hodge who raised him, comforted him, encouraged him, let him scream in pain and cry in frustration. Alec loved the older man, probably more than he could ever love his own parents. Hodge wouldn't betray him.

Magnus agreed. Oh, he didn't like the former Circle member, and didn't really trust Hodge. Perhaps at one point Hodge might have chosen his freedom over Alec and his sibling's wellbeing, but not anymore. Not when Hodge knew Alec was a sentinel and his mate was a downworlder, and he'd never said a thing against it.

"He's a goddamn warlock!" The couple heard Izzy shout. Running out of the master bath, she pointed her finger at them. "Your mate can afford all the special clothes, and soaps, and special handkerchiefs he wants to give you because he's a warlock! He can do the magic himself!"

Alec stared at his sister, hair still wet and half-combed, standing in the hallway in his boxers and shirt. "You're just figuring this out now?"

She scowled, "Don't even go there, Alexander Gideon. I have had a very stressful day. They held me captive!"

Alec shrugged a shoulder, "Kind of feels like any old Tuesday to me."

Izzy threw the hairbrush at him, "You're such a twit."

**~ Part Five ~**

“This is where you think your mom hid it?” Alec frowned, the storage unit was jam-packed with clutter and even though Luke had only just opened the door the Sentinel already felt the urge to sneeze.

“It’s the only place that really makes sense.” Clary argued, “I lost dozens of memories because there were demons or runes or magic in them; but near the end of the memories was this place - no demons, no runes, no magic. Why would it have been taken if it wasn’t important?”

“Could it have been a mistake?” Izzy asked, nose wrinkled as she took in what was clearly not haute couture. “The magic taking something that it wasn’t supposed to?”

Magnus shook his head, “The magic doesn’t work that way. If Clary lost a memory of this place than it was because there’s something of the Shadow World here.”

“This is gonna take a while,” Luke said, checking his watch, “Jocelyn never met a thrift sale she didn’t enjoy.”

“She owns an antique shop,” Clary blustered, “She's been collecting junk for years. It’s worth something to the right person.”

“Then let’s hope our something is here,” Magnus gave a wave of a hand, but other than general shudder from the maybe-not-trash, nothing happened. “That’s a good sign.”

“Nothing happened,” Jace said flatly.

“Because the storage unit is warded against it.”

“Which implies it has something to protect,” Alec stepped forward, “We’re going to have to go through all of this stuff.”

Jace stepped up on Alec’s left, “You could do the thing.”

“No.”

“Come on, Alec.” Jace whined, “the sooner we find the cup the sooner you can be back at your office desk, happily grouching with Hodge.”

Alec stared down at his parabatai, “That’s not what I do.”

“That’s totally what you do and you could be back to doing it faster if you did the thing!”

“What thing?” Clary asked from the sidelines.

“Alec can see magic, or through magic, or something,” Izzy said with a shrug, “Advanced courses in anatomy and physiology and I still don’t understand how Alec can do what he does.”

“If he can do that, why wouldn’t he?” Clary frowned, “I know he doesn’t like me-”

“It’s not personal, Alec doesn’t like anyone.”

“-But if it got him back to the Institute faster, why not help?”

“I get a migraine,” Alec cut in annoyed. Why wasn’t ‘no, I don’t want to,’ enough? “Last time I used my sight like that, it lasted for days.”

“We’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Magnus said rolling his sleeves up, “the faster we start, the faster we find it.”

“No way,” Jace shook his head, “It could take days to get through all of this to find a cup we don’t know what it looks like and that might not actually be shaped like a cup.”

“Come on, hermano,” Izzy batted her eyes, “Even if the migraine is bad after this, do it fast and we can have you asleep in less than an hour. And I promise to do all the paperwork. Thoroughly even.”

“Please Alec,” Clary bounced in place, “for my mom?”

Of course, his ‘no’ wasn’t sufficient. Alec weighed the situation, nauseating vertigo and complete loss of control over his sight and hearing versus the knowledge that if Alec doesn’t give in and something awful happens before they find the cup these children are going to blame him for the rest of his life. He sighed.

“Magnus,” He held his hand out for his lover, “I’m going to need some help.”

“I don’t like this,” the warlock said, taking his hand, “if this is going to do you damage, then we can do this another way.”

“It’ll take too long,” Jace asserted.

“It will take longer,” Luke frowned, “but we can’t know what we’re getting ourselves into here, and Alec’s migraine could be more of a disadvantage in a fight than speedily finding what we’re looking for.”

“Luke?” Clary prompted when it looked like the man was biting back a comment. “What is it?”

“I know we’re not talking about it,” Luke gave a nod that was more like a bow in the Sentinel’s direction, “but disregarding the desires of one like Alec is... blasphemous. I can’t support this decision.”

“Are you- Are you leaving?” Clary asked with a wobble in her voice.

“No,” Luke shook his head, “I wasn’t lying about my concerns that this could lay out one of our best fighters. If Alec is alright going forward, then I’ll support his decision.”

Most who grew up in the Clave revered Sentinels. For hundreds of years, the rhetoric had been that Sentinels were closer to the Angels than other Nephilim. And Alec had wondered when he’d started researching the history of his kind, if that hadn’t been one reason behind their deaths. If someone hadn’t decided they didn’t like the power Nephilim culture gave Sentinels.

Hodge had told him more than once that it had been one hook in Valentine’s platform; he wanted to see Sentinels return. Sentinels would never take the Circle's side, Alec knew it in his bones, his purpose was to protect people. No Sentinel would ever endorse the genocide of Downworlders. But Hodge admitted it took years after his sentencing, maybe even until after Alec’s rune ceremony and his waking as a Sentinel to realize that Valentine had made no sense. He wondered vaguely how many people in the Circle were like Hodge and Luke, so brainwashed by what Valentine had sold to them as hopes that they couldn’t even remember when they’d stopped thinking for themselves.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Luke.” Alec replied, “But none of them are going to shut up about this until I give in.” As though cued, the terrible trio gasped in offense, but Alec’s patience was badly frayed and he really, really didn’t want to do this. “If you could keep your attention on our back, though, this is going to take a lot out of me.”

Jace huffed as Luke nodded, visibly turning his attention out of the storage unit. “Oh, come on! We’re not that bad!”

“You really are.”

“Time is running out if we’re going to enter,” Magnus huffed, a tremble developing as his arms strained to stay in one place. “In or out, choose now.”

“If Alec’s going to use his sight, better we stay out here and guard the door.” Izzy said with a smirk, “Wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”

Jace leaned forward, “Do I need-”

“No,” Alec said abruptly, tugging Magnus through the ward with him. “Magnus will take care of me.”

Alec’s attention was already on the next task, heightening his sight to see passive magic and not just active, but faintly he could hear Luke’s huff of surprise.

“Perhaps not the best way to share that surprise,” Magnus’s hand was hot where it pressed against his back, “What do you need from me?”

“Just follow me?” Alec kissed his boyfriend, “I’ve never done this with an anchor. Jace has pulled me back, but using our bond is like getting dragged naked across asphalt. And Izzy enjoys using smelling salts. God, if I never smell sulfuric acid again it will be too soon.”

“Unpleasant.” Magnus gave a small laugh and pulled Alec’s t-shirt up in the back, “How ’bout this then? Touch, smell, and sound.”

“Worth trying,” Alec shrugged, “Now to just find the damn cup.”

Alec had vague memories about what the world looked like before he took his angelic power rune. His mother’s hair had been black, the stone walls of the New York Institute had been grey, and his bedroom after lights out had been dark. Everything had been different afterwards. It had taken Hodge weeks to help Alec, his sleep pattern trashed because even his interior room in the Institute wasn’t dark like he remembered. And the worry that someone would notice had been overwhelming.

Increasing his sight enough to see passive magic was like experiencing that change all over again. One minute the view of the storage container was normal, something close to what Alec figured his siblings and the others saw. Then he blinked, gently increasing the strength of his sight until he hit that threshold and opened his eyes to a world in a riot of color.

The storage unit was brightly lit with the glow of the protective wards lining the walls. It was a soft opalescence that Alec thought he recognized, but only vaguely. A stream of gold slowly wound its way through the unit, brightening those items it touched for a moment, before something shifted and the stream moved.

“Magnus?”

“Yes?” The warlock pressed his forehead against Alec’s back, his hand still under Alec’s shirt. “What can I do?”

“Question about magical theory,” Alec bit his lip, “the type of magic warlocks can do stays with an object, right?”

“Yes, even summoning spells reach out directly for the object the caster desires. What are you seeing?”

“A stream? Like it’s just this meandering river of magic moving through the unit. Heard of anything like it?”

“It might be part of a ley line,” Magnus offered, “which would be why Dot’s magic has lasted so long past her death when there are no anchors here.”

“But this is pretty far from any of the major currents in the area, right?”

“That would be correct,” Magnus hesitated, “but ley lines are composed of wild magic created by the movement of the planet. Nothing should have moved such a stream here without repercussions.”

Alec nodded decisively, following the stream. “It’s the cup. Objects imbued with significant amounts of angelic power have caused disturbances to the ley lines before.”

“They have?”

Alec snorted, “Why do you think the Institutes exist? It’s not exactly like Nephilim are overflowing Alicante.”

Magnus muttered some choice words about the Clave and its greedy history of restricting the information available about the angelic items of power, but Alec’s attention had been fully given over to tracking that flimsy sparkling stream of magic. Behind a crate, around a lamp, and straight to the back right corner of the storage unit where Alec picked up a large bundle bound by a plain black leather belt.

“That’s it?”

Alec snorted at his partner’s skepticism, “Won’t know until I unwrap it, will I?”

“Well then, unwrap it!”

Patience, for all that Magnus had already lived for hundreds of years, was not a virtue the warlock had ever cultivated. Honestly, Alec didn’t know any warlocks who were really patient. Not even Catarina. “Alright, alright.”

In Alec’s sight it was a riot of magic shimmering a million different shades the Sentinel wasn’t sure he could ever describe. Every hue under the sun and a few from beyond the stars it felt like. But carefully dimming his sight, focusing on Magnus’s touch and smell and the faint sounds of his body, suggested that the cup was rather rough hewn. Carved from a single piece of light wood and without embellishments, it might have looked innocuous even to Magnus’s trained senses, but there was no doubt that this was the Mortal Cup.

“Huh, kind of boring.”

“Not if you saw what I did,” Alec assured his mate. “This thing is a riot of magic, I’ve never seen it so concentrated in one place.”

He missed Magnus’s reply, Alec’s attention caught by the sound of fighting just outside the unit. The snap of Izzy’s whip, and a gurgle that sounded like Jace might have been cut off from calling out, had all of his attention.

“I think they found us,” and without thinking Alec grabbed the cup to take with them. And he stumbled.

One step and he was turning to go to his family’s rescue; the second step and Alec was surrounded by a brilliant white light made of a million different colors, vibrant and more overwhelming than he could ever imagine. And just out of his sight, just out of his hearing, Alec could feel the immense weight of a presence more powerful than any earthbound warlock or demon.

There was a curious sensation of being inspected from the tips of his toes to the corners of his soul that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, and gently, lovingly placed back in his body. He was left with a voice more felt and understood in his bones than his ears.

_You might not be mine, Alexander Lightwood, but you do belong to someone._

“Alec,” Magnus was grasping at his shoulders like he’d tripped, “Are you okay?”

“I think I just met an angel,” was Alec’s dazed response.

The warlock’s eyes went wide, “An angel?”

“I don’t know,” He shook his head as his senses shed that muffled feeling they’d held. “Just wasn’t a demon, that’s for sure.”

“I doubt any demon would leave you without scorch marks.” Magnus snorted, but his attention was back to the front of the storage unit when something let out a big bang. “You think Valentine found us?”

“Yeah,” Alec moved forward again, stringing an arrow in one smooth move. “I heard fighting at least.”

“Should we hide the cup?”

“And potentially run without it?” Alec shook his head, “Or even better, let it fall into someone else’s hands? No, better that our best bartering chip is in our hands.”

They eased their way back through the labyrinth of Jocelyn Frey’s hoard until Alec stopped them behind the half rotted shell of an old sofa. The sound of fighting had stopped. Alec could hear heart beats and breathing as he raised his sense of hearing to get a good idea of what was waiting around the corner.

There was Jace’s heartbeat, and Izzy’s. There was Clary’s, more frantic than a rabbit under the gaze of a hawk; any faster and an iratzi wouldn’t stop the heart attack. Alec didn’t know Luke well enough to be certain, but he could guess that the slower heartbeat was likely his—knocked out or subdued with some sort of sedative. The shuffle of bodies and the hitch of a breath told him where people stood. But not enough to guess who might be holding his siblings, or if they were in more danger than he thought.

“Alexander Lightwood,” Came a man’s voice from beyond the wards of the storage unit. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Pleasant?!” Jace hissed, “My brother’s going to-”

Jace choked, and it was Magnus’s hand fisting into the back of his shirt that kept the Sentinel from vaulting over the decrepit sofa and getting himself into so much trouble.

“Don’t,” Magnus hissed. “The ward will keep anything in or out.”

“Perfect.” Alexander stepped forward around the sofa and straight into the sights of Valentine Morgenstern. The shadow world’s own boogie man.

He didn’t flinch at the hail of gunfire unleashed on the ward, and he didn’t move as the leader of the Circle called his hired thugs off.

“He’s inside the wards, you fools.” Valentine sneered, “I’ve never known a Lightwood to be a coward. Hiding behind a ward, like an unblooded child.”

Alec raised a brow in incredulity, “Am I supposed to be concerned about your opinion? You needed fifteen men to capture three Shadowhunters, a werewolf, a warlock, and Clary—who might as well be a mundane.”

“But catch them I did.” Valentine licked his lips, staring at the cup in Alec’s hands. “And I caught the Cup.”

“This?” Alec waved the Cup to watch Valentine’s eyes trace it, “Doesn’t look like it’s in your hands yet.”

Valentine snarled and his men flinched. Clary hissed at the jab of the weapon’s muzzle into her back.

The Circle had been dangerous because by the end there hadn’t been a single line they weren’t willing to cross for Valentine’s goals. Hodge had been painfully honest about that. The New York Institute’s weapons master had a list of regrets large enough it made the Hudson look short.

Right now, Valentine’s best weapon against Alec was his men. Poorly trained but sadistic, they jumped at Valentine’s word for the power he’d promised them. With his family incapacitated, Alec had to change the status quo quickly. Before one of these thugs jumped too soon and killed his kin by accident.

“You can have the Mortal Cup,” Alec offered blandly, ignoring the incredulous looks his family offered. “If you let your hostages go. We’d happily leave the cup here for you to have, if we can leave first.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, boy?” Valentine chuckled, “One item for six hostages?”

“It is a powerful item,” Alec replied.

“How about this,” Valentine’s smile was surprisingly pleasant, even if his eyes were devoid of feeling. “You, the cup, and the delightfully powerful Warlock Bane can come quietly. Or I can have my men slit the throats of your siblings before you could do more than flinch. What’ll it be? You and your mate? Or the lives of these three stooges?”

“Don’t you dare, Alec!” Izzy hissed.

“I’m going to-” Jace choked as the thug moved his arm from Jace’s shoulders to his throat.

“Do what? Flail? Honestly, I thought I’d trained you better than this, Jonathan. You’ve gotten quite sloppy.” Valentine rolled his eyes and turned back to Alec. “I won’t cry if you want me to kill them. They’re really quite annoying; though I must thank Clarissa, darling daughter, for leading us right to the Cup.”

Alec looked at Magnus where his mate had moved closer but still out of sight. This wasn’t something he could just accept, not when his mate’s life was on the line as well. But he needn’t have bothered. Magnus was with him to the bitter end, and his scowl suggested Alec could take his opinion and shove it somewhere very uncomfortable. He bit back a reflexive smile.

“Me, Magnus, and the Cup, for the lives of Jace, Clary, Izzy, and Luke.” The Sentinel clarified.

“Yes, of course. The Cup is one thing, and I’ll be happy to have it back. But a Sentinel?” Valentine chuckled, his eyes lit with a manic light. “I don’t have one of those in my collection. Yet.”

Alec was disturbed to realize that he didn’t know what Valentine wanted more, the Cup or him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the toasted caramel flavor of his mate’s magic with the air. “Magnus will open a portal and you’ll let my family go. Without following them.”

“With only your word you won’t follow?” Valentine shook his head, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That’s not how this goes.”

“Fine.” The Sentinel nodded sharply, “Magnus opens the portal, Clary and Jace leave through it. I leave the storage container. Magnus opens a second portal and Jace and Luke leave. Once everyone is gone and safe, Magnus will join us with the Cup.”

Alec could tell that he wanted to object, but the only leverage Valentine had was over his family’s lives. He was smart enough to know that if he hurt any of them, Alec wouldn’t hesitate to make sure the cup never reached his hands.

“Hmm, very well.”

The plan took shape painfully slow. At each step Magnus had to take a deep breath and subtly steal some magic from the ley line the Cup had shifted. But he refused Alec’s power, and no matter how the Sentinel wished differently, he couldn’t force the warlock to take his strength. And of course, once Alec stepped outside the storage container, he couldn’t offer his mate anything.

“I really am quite excited to see what you can do, Alexander.” Valentine said with a smile, “Your one of a kind, the only Sentinel in existence at this moment.”

“I really doubt that.” Alec admitted, “I can’t be the only one hiding.”

Valentine offered a politely interested expression even as they both observed the portal closing behind Luke’s shoes. “You don’t think the Angels took Sentinels away because the Clave lost their favor?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Alec complained, “If we lost their favor there shouldn’t have been any Sentinels at all. Not the haphazard fewer than more than fewer again pattern we see in Clave records.”

“Than what do you think happened?” Valentine asked as Magnus was led over to join them, a thug’s hand on the warlock’s shoulder, and the group turned as a whole to face a much larger portal spring up in front of them.

“I think the Clave lost the Sentinels’ favor. And they hid. I think they’ve always been around, just not in sight.”

It was the only thing that made sense. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be—that Alec was special.


	2. Hours Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Reese comes online as a Guide during a stint with the CIA. He doesn't think about it. He just turns himself in the direction of New York and starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief discussion of alternative interogation tactics. Nothing unusual for this fandom. A brief bit of attempted sexual assault, but as the tags said John is a BAMF. No need to worry.
> 
> Don't forget to comment and tell me if you liked the fic enough to read more. Otherwise, it may end up forgotten in the mess of my Works In Progress folder.

**T—15 minutes**

Tyrell Evans capped the needle and stood back from their victim. “Alright, now forty minutes and he should be good to talk.”

“Forty minutes?” Mark Snow, the team’s handler, scowled, “And this is the shortcut?”

The interrogation specialist sneered, “Well, you could try with your fists, accidentally puncture something, and then your informant is bleeding out internally before they can give you anything.”

“At least that’s more fun than waiting,” Kara Stanton huffed.

“It’s not even an hour,” Evans rolled his eyes, “And these drugs are foolproof, they work. They just take time to soften the subject. Back me up here, Reese.”

“Right, like soft squishy John is going to choose the more violent option,” Snow shook his head. “It’s a wonder you survived the Special Forces, John-boy.”

As though it was the violence John objected to. 

“Like Evans said, the drugs are a sure thing.” He opened the door to the motel walkway, “Better cost-benefit waiting forty minutes than having to pound the dirt for the next six weeks trying to find another informant.” 

‘Subject’ and ‘informant’, as though their sins could hide behind scientifically acceptable language. The language appropriate for the report where Snow signs off on all uses of force as ‘acceptable’. The last thing this situation should be was acceptable. Call it what it was–torture. And instead of ‘subject’ they should admit it was ‘victim’, John thinks as he settles with a cigarette and his phone against the banister outside their crappy motel room. There was a drug deal going down on the first floor, and the shuddering boom of explosives going off somewhere else in the city was just far enough away to ignore.

Too bad John wasn’t there amidst the debris and rubble, helping locate survivors. Then maybe he could ignore what was going on in the motel room behind him. His chest ached, but it wasn’t anything physical. It never was. He’d accepted the job from the CIA because they told him he’d be protecting people. ‘Defending Freedom’. The biggest piece of bullshit he’d ever heard. Too bad he’d been neck deep in it before he realized. 

John pulled the burner from his pocket and dialed the only number he ever used it for. 

“John,” the voice at the end had a laugh in it; the recording was a little choppy, and John could tell his friend had been outside when she’d called. “I don’t have long. I’ll be out of touch for a couple of days while I get set up. But I wanted to tell you, you’re going to be a godfather!” 

John’s breath caught; Jessica was having a baby. His friend was having a baby, and he’d probably never meet them. His little family would grow by one. 

Her voice broke on the next word, “I-I know you probably already know, but James doesn’t want it. He never wants them.”

His chest ached and not for the first time John wondered what the world would look like if he’d asked her to wait; if he hadn’t decided that protecting the country was more important than protecting his family. If he’d just said no to Mark Snow when he’d come around recruiting. Snow’d been right that the CIA ‘could use’ someone like him. The CIA was more than happy to use him up and throw him out.

“I’m doing it,” Jessica continued, “I’m leaving. It’ll be hard and I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe, John, but I have to. For-” 

And then John’s heart stopped. Through the crappy connection of what was probably a public phone, he could hear gunshots and screaming and someone who sounded like his Jessica begging. Just begging.

“End of message.” 

John stared out into the war-torn landscape of a city he didn’t care about, fighting a war where no one knew all the sides. The phone fell from his grip and distantly he could hear the crack as it hit the cement on the first floor. 

Jessica could be dead. John took a deep breath in and forced himself to face the truth. Optimism wouldn’t help anyone in this case. Jessica, his only remaining tie to the US, was dead. His next of kin, the beneficiary on his insurance paperwork, his best friend, was dead.

And no one had told him.

Something broke in John as he considered that. The agency he trusted to have his back lied to him. Suddenly, all the concerns he’d had about Kara and Mark’s sadism. About the excessive force they used and all the times when he’d never been told what exactly their victim had done to earn an assassination. They pooled in his mind and for the first time, John didn’t let his team’s placating comments about being a newbie fog his thoughts.

This wasn’t John over-reacting. This was the agency, or at least his part of it, being corrupt. 

“Hey, there you are.” Kara smiled like a snake, mouth full of venom. “Checking up on your girlfriend? Tyrell thinks the informant should wake up any minute. We’ll have to wait awhile to make sure, but there’s a lot of fun we can do without touching him.”

John didn’t bother with a smile, wasn’t sure he’d smile again, “You know I don’t like that stuff.”

“Don’t like using your fists, don’t like pulling the trigger, don’t like drugs.” Kara tossed her hair over a shoulder, “You should get used to it. Otherwise, what good are you?”

John looked over at her and understood all at once what had broken inside him. Kara smelt like dry rot and looked like a corpse. Her hair had fallen out, the flesh of her face withered, and as she spoke John watched a bug, something large and slimy, crawl out of her mouth. 

“Groceries,” John said placidly, not letting his eyes wander or his voice waver. Not even thinking about how his stomach swooped inside him. “Clean bedsheets. Writing reports.”

“The boring stuff,” Kara laughed and blood gurgled in her throat. “Fine, then. I want that spicy soup from the corner store. Hot enough to clean the sinuses.”

John nodded, “Let me just ask what the others want.”

Kara waved a hand, “Mark ate earlier and Tyrell never eats while he’s doing the questioning. Claims hunger makes him sharper.”

It made him something, that was for sure. 

“Fine, spicy soup and dumplings for two then,” John said, heading for the stairs, hoping Kara didn’t insist on coming with him. But she just laughed and smacked his shoulder on the way by, and John had to resist the urge to throw up.

Regardless, she didn’t watch as he turned onto the street with the tiny shop that served soup spicy enough to claim it was lethal. Which was good, because John passed the shop and kept walking. 

One block and then another, ignoring all the people monstrous and angelic that only he could see, before John swung into an alley and out of sight. Before he left the city, he needed to get rid of something. Kara hadn’t left him with much when she insisted he go get the food; the kit in his bag had all his documents and supplies for a run, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it.

The first step was the tracker embedded in the bottom of his foot. John swore to a god he didn’t believe in that this had better be the only tracker. Kara wasn’t wrong in calling him a newbie and as far as John could be certain, he’d never lost time in the CIA’s custody. That meant little, though, when there were drugs to make anything forgettable and methods to let them get away with it. 

The pocket knife hurt, but John was an old hand at ignoring his own pain and the bandana he’d kept in his pocket out of habit–it’d been useful more times than headquarters could guess–made a pretty sturdy bandage once he’d slipped his shoe back on. 

He dropped the tracker right where he’d stood and continued on toward the north side of the city like nothing was amiss.

The only way Kara and the others could take him back would be in a body bag. He resisted the urge to soothe the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand. It wouldn’t work. It was pulling him somewhere; but before John could figure out where, he had to get as much distance between him and his team as possible. Then he could take a breath and figure out where he’s supposed to be going.

*******

Joss smiled at the secretary as she juggled coffees, breakfast sandwiches, and a bag to swipe her badge against the lock to the Project’s secure offices. It was mostly for show. Oh, the doors were locked, and the badges were keys, but with Finch’s Machine watching every entrance and exit it wasn’t like a badge was the only thing needed to get in or out of the offices.

Didn’t mean her team wouldn’t heckle her for dropping everything as she tried to get the door open, though.

“Running late, Joss?” Nathan Ingram, Alpha Sentinel of the Eastern Seaboard and the Alpha of her personal Pride smirked as he graciously took the tray of coffee from her overburdened hands. “And here I was finally thinking you’d realized there was a world outside of the office.”

“Unlike you and Finch, I have a life outside the office,” Joss smirked. “I’m just also capable of being punctual.”

“Hey, now, that is slander!” Ingram scowled playfully as they entered the conference room. “Harold, tell Joss that I am completely capable of being punctual!”

The Alpha Guide, a short man settled in a wheelchair at the bay of computer screens, didn’t bother looking up. “You are completely capable of being punctual. Though I can’t recall you ever using it.”

The gathered staff laughed as Nathan flailed in shock. “Betrayed by my own Guide!”

Harold Finch hid a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Are we waiting on anyone else?”

“Joshua?” Joss asked as she held up the only unclaimed cup. The man was as unlikely to be late as her. 

“Oh, Joshua called in earlier,” Anne, a younger woman said smiling a little devilishly as she stole the extra cup. “Something about a wild night and a pulled muscle. I can’t figure out if he was talking about a run in with a number or a sexscapade gone wrong.”

Ray, further down the table, snorted, “It can’t be both?”

“Alright, children,” Finch glared a little over the rim of his glasses, “time to get to work. Any problems to discuss?”

“I’ve got #1035 again,” Anne shook her head. “This will be the third time in a month; I don’t know what to do. I can taze an asshole good, but if ‘1035 goes back to him again…” She shrugged helplessly, “How do you help someone who doesn’t want to be saved?”

“You shake them up.” Joss said, tapping her stylus against the side of her tablet. “I’ve had good success with the ‘I work homicide; if you don’t change something it’ll be your murder, I’m working one day’ angle.”

“I’ve got something in mind for you, Joss.” Harold said with a frown, “But-“

“How ’bout a switch?” Ray offered, “I’m going to pull off homicide detective far better than Anne will.”

Which was the god’s honest truth. No one was going to look at Anne Telmaine with her bubblegum pink stilettos and matching peacoat and think ‘homicide detective’. 

“I have no problem with it,” Ingram said from the head of the table. “Harold?”

“No,” Harold said finally, “I don’t think it should go poorly, but if it does-“

“Relax, Papa Finch,” Anne smirked, “You’ll probably know if it goes bad before we do.”

Finch huffed, and Joss hid her smile behind the last sip of her coffee. Their boss was cautious, rightfully so. The Irrelevant Project didn’t claim funding from the government, but it was still subject to legal and ethical oversight. Every chance of misstep was a chance the Project charter could be pulled and the Irrelevant list would return to being deleted each night. 

This wasn’t what the intelligence agencies of the government had in mind when they’d given IFT leave to build a machine that could detect acts of terror before they happened. It was what the public needed, though. An Alpha pair dedicated to protecting everyone, not just someone. The government had lost the battle before it had even left the court of public opinion. 

“Then I think we’re adjourned,” Nathan said as he checked the time and made sure that no one else’s questions had been overlooked. “Those with ongoing cases, don’t forget to make a day report for the night shift.”

“I need a minute to explain your case, Joss.” Finch smiled, “Do you mind if we borrowed your office?”

“Not at all,” Joss said, “Just don’t mind the smell of last night’s Chinese.”

Harold chuckled as he rolled along beside her, “I doubt I’ll smell it. Are the cleaners not working out?” 

Joss shrugged, “It’s fine in the common areas. It’s more likely just me.”

The Alpha Guide hummed in consideration as he parked himself beside her desk. “I’ll keep that in mind, but for now–the number.” 

“This is something delicate, then?” 

“Yes,” Harold agreed, “Or rather, the person involved is delicate. Police Chief Raegan’s number came up this morning. And while we’ll work with the police and continue the investigation, we need someone to break the news to him that there’s a credible threat against his life.”

Joss sighed, working with any of the Reagans was a test of patience. All of them so certain they knew the direction the wind blew. “I can try, but our best bet is to dismantle the threat before Reagan is attacked.”

“Agreed, however-“

Harold kept talking but Joss was completely incapable of listening as her office faded out of sight and instead a great field spread out before her, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. To the right was her spirit animal, the great lioness lounged on a pile of hot rocks, but her attention was on the sky. So Joss turned her attention there too. 

High in the sky, the sun reflected off feathers. For a moment, as Joss strained her eyes to see what she’d been waiting for, for what felt like her entire life; Joss and her spirit animal were one. The lioness peered up, catching the eye of the predator that was her mate. 

And Joss felt strength, enduring strength. And she felt a fire banked in her guide, smothered by life with its ceaseless grind. Even as the vision bled back into her boss’s startled expression and the pale walls of her office, Joss knew that her mate’s fire wasn’t gone. He was on his way, and that fire was being fed with every mile he crossed to reach her.

She smiled a little, hiding fangs behind pressed lips. She couldn’t wait to meet him.

“Joss?”

“Sorry, Finch.” She blinked, trying to bring her focus back to the job in front of her. “My Guide just came online.”

“Congratulations, Joss.” Her quiet Alpha practically beamed, “I’d still prefer to have you talk to Reagan, but then you could have some time off. You’ll probably need to arrange moving, and you need to tell Taylor–teenagers really can be very difficult about abrupt changes. Nathan, knows a wonderful real estate agent who really understands what Sentinel-safe and Guide-safe means. Nathan! Oh, the Plaza has a wonderful reputation for nesting suites!”

“Harold,” Joss laughed, wheeling her chair over to the Guide. “Finch! Calm down, he’s not here yet.”

“Who’s not here yet?” Ingram asked for the doorway.

“Joss’s guide came online!” Harold said, twisting a little too sharp in his wheelchair. He waved off both Sentinels’ worry with a hiss and a flap of the hand. “This is wonderful! They’ll have our full support, won’t they, Nathan?”

“Of course they will, little bird.” Nathan smiled down at his guide and almost helplessly pressed a kiss to the man’s crown. “Do you know if your building is guide-safe, Carter? Buildings labeled sentinel-safe are not always guide-safe as well. And there’ve been many advances in psionic muffling technologies in the past thirty years. You need to be careful that your guide knows they’re more important than your den. No matter how long you’ve had it.”

Joss shook her head, “I don’t know, but I’ll ask my landlord about it. Hopefully Taylor won’t mind moving.”

“We’ve been working on a building only a couple of blocks from here.” Nathan admitted after a moment. “Somewhere we can gather our Pride under one roof.”

“But all have our own space!” Harold clarified, “If your guide can wait that long we should have an apartment ready for you to move into in just a few months.”

Joss bit back her instinctive ‘hell, no’, because that would only be insulting. And honestly, it wasn’t like Ingram, Finch, and the Machine weren’t all up in her business, anyway. The Machine not only had her Nana’s medications on auto-refill, but had tattled on Taylor when he’d broken curfew. And since Finch was militant about the ethics involved in both the Project and the Machine, it probably wouldn’t even be that bad. 

“I’m going to need to think about it,” Joss finally said. “This is probably something I need to talk to my guide about before deciding. Besides, he’s not even here yet.”

Nathan offered a sly look, “Do you know where he is?”

Joss shook her head, palming her chest, already aching from separation. “Just east of us somewhere. Europe probably, maybe as far away as Turkey.”

“He’ll probably sign in to the Pride House first thing when he arrives.” 

“Which means,” Finch said as he rolled back, only nearly missing his bonded’s toes, “we should definitely leave you to call them. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Joss grinned as the Guide, not being subtle at all, herded his Sentinel out of the office and shut the door quietly. 

She wanted a relationship like that. Not that one, Finch and Ingram were both a little more than Joss could handle on most days. But a relationship full of trust and affection; a feeling that swore in the middle of battle or at the height of peace, they would be together. Yes, Joss wanted it with her bird of prey so much it ached.

The former homicide detective dialed the number for the Pride House in lower Manhattan. Relationships like that took time, though. It wouldn’t happen immediately, Joss had already been married once. She didn’t assume just because she was a Sentinel and he was a Guide that everything would work out. But she also wasn’t afraid of putting in a little effort, either.

“Hello, this is Sentinel Joss Carter. I think my Guide will arrive soon, I just felt him come online.”

**T + 12 hours and Counting**

Prague was an old city, and the remnants of the old regime lingered like oil on water, clinging to everything. It wasn’t hard to achieve his ends in a city like this. Jon left his stolen vehicle three blocks over in a part of the city that didn’t have cameras. Unlocked, it probably wouldn’t take an entire day to turn into pieces at a sketchy body shop. He’d left his kit at the train station, and it was the work of a moment to stop by the locker as he waited for the shuttle to the airport. 

He’d already reserved his tickets for the first flight to New York by the time someone registered his status as an unbonded guide. 

John saw the hawk perched on the cafe’s banner in the airline display’s reflection over the ticket booth. Leading his eye directly to the man watching him.

In John’s guide-sight the man took the appearance of a wolf, flea ridden and diseased. Weak from a long famine, its coat was matted in some places and balding in others. He stared at John like water in the desert, a warm meal on a bitterly cold night, like John was prey. 

John hadn’t been prey in a very long time. 

Paying for his tickets, the AWOL CIA agent deliberately walked right in front of the man’s table. Bumping into it lightly, John excused himself with a twitch of the lips in his stalker’s direction. Deliberately, he didn’t look back. Intentionally, he ambled towards an out of the way corner where no one would be bothered by a little noise. Where John could handle the situation quietly.

A three-sense really should have been more concerned about where they were going. But John could see the tremble in the man’s wolf, the glint of a hungry madness clearly reflected through the mirrored shine on the walls. All his prey was thinking about was getting his hands on John. Perfect.

Stepping up to a convenient corner with a water fountain, John didn’t even have to bed his head to take a sip before the three-sense was behind him. Boxing John in with the weight and breadth of his shoulders.

“Sweet guide,” the man purred out on a rancid breath, “you need to be careful.” He snuck his hands around John’s waist, going for the belt buckle. “Good thing I came around when I did.”

“Listen,” John caught the hands with his, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The wolfman scoffed, “Your Agency’s got your picture up everywhere anyone knows to look. Offering to reward the first to catch you with keeping you. John R-”

John angled his elbow back and jabbed it straight into his enemy’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged, his hands went to his throat as his knees wobbled and he choked, trying to breathe. Stepping just to the side, John fisted his hands in the stalker’s greasy, tangled hair and brought him to bear against the polished finish of the steel fountain’s rim. 

“Too bad they didn’t offer more than my picture,” John said to the body at his feet. 

John hadn’t been kept in a very long time. And if anyone was going to do it, the Sentinel in New York tugging at his guide-heart had a far better chance than the mess he stepped over on his way to security.

It was like no one ever remembered that guides were partners for sentinels. If sentinels went to war, so did guides. If sentinels were in danger, so were their guides. Somewhere along the line though, people had decided that guides were frail, easily bidden, docile. 

The last thing John was, was docile. And if his Sentinel expected anything else, well, they would learn better or live forever with the fact that they’d been rejected.

John didn’t think they would, though. His hawk hopped from perch to perch as he went through security, but between the monsters and the saints milling in the crowd, occasionally John saw a lioness, big and strong and beautiful. Watching him from the shadows, not worried or hunting, simply keeping an eye on him the way her human-half couldn’t.

John was slipping his shoes back on, when the alarm sounded and the voice on the intercom blurred it spoke so fast. He turned to the woman on the other side of the conveyor belt. “I wonder what happened?”

“Hopefully nothing,” the woman offered nervously, hurrying to grab up her luggage and shoes. “Whatever it is, they’re trained for it, right?”

“Right,” John smiled briefly, nothing to give him away as anything other than another business man. He wasn’t worried or concerned, he wasn’t jittery, he wasn’t anxious or aggressive. “It’s their job. Probably just a false alarm.”

She nodded nervously, “You on the flight to New York?”

“3133,” John agreed, “you too?”

“My sister invited me to stay with her for the last part of my trip.” She laughed a little, “I don’t know if I should be excited or concerned. We don’t really get along that well.”

“Excited,” John offered as he handed the flight attendant his ticket, “definitely. No use borrowing worry you don’t need.”

“Right. Right.” She waved awkwardly as she passed his first-class seat on the way back to economy. “Have a pleasant trip.”

“You, too.”

The flight attendant smiled as she stowed his jacket in the compartment over him. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Whiskey?” Three hundred people full of their own stresses and anxieties stuck in a tin can for the next thirteen hours was going to be a special kind of hell. Hopefully, John it wouldn’t be one John had to be awake for. “And a pillow?”

“Certainly, sir. Right away.”

*******

Mundanes love the idea of sentinels and guides. They love the romance of a perfect match, and the adrenaline rush of living vicariously. Joss figured they wouldn’t be so popular if Hollywood would show the long hours, reams of paperwork, and exhaustion that haunted most of the Sentinel-Guide population. Using heightened senses, physical or spiritual, burned calories like nothing else. 

And it wasn’t like Reagan was cooperative. Well, he was more cooperative than most numbers. He was more than willing to increase his security and put his own set of detectives on the case, but he’d never been a proponent of the Irrelevant Project and it showed. He was cooperative because it was a threat against his life, but he wasn’t helping her. 

Joss really just wanted to get this case over with. Working with Reagan was like kissing toads. Extremely unpleasant. What she needed after something like that was a nap. Just a few winks on the couch in her office. Just- maybe-

She opened her eyes to the view from her office behind her desk. The bullpen at the Project was hazy. She couldn’t focus in on it, but she didn’t really care. There was a vision of a man in front of the crime boards. Her lioness was sprawled at his feet, and a hawk dug claws into the edge of the conference screen without leaving marks. 

Joss stepped forward to join him at the screens. 

“I thought the blue dreams always happened in a forest.” The man said without turning around.

“The blue forest is an actual place on the psionic plane, but blue dreams can be set anywhere. It just depends on who’s dreaming.” She replied as she stepped even closer.

When he turned around there was barely any space between them at all, and Joss could take in her Guide on a visceral level. The skin was tight around his eyes and mouth, perhaps with stress or pain—she wished she could smell more than whatever after shave he’d used—but she wasn’t sure. He could be seconds away from a breakdown, Joss wouldn’t blame him. There was a slight tremor to his hands, and dark circles on the skin under his eyes. He was thirty pounds underweight and holding on to his sanity with his fingertips, and Joss thought he was beautiful.

“I know you. We’ve met before.” Joss said as she brushed her fingertips against his lips.

He caught her hands and placed the lightest kiss against them, and she shivered at both the touch and the temperature of his skin.

“Afghanistan, 2005.” He finally said with that rough voice, “The mess tent. You were across the room, laughing. I remember thinking I’d never seen anything so beautiful.”

Joss blinked because she remembered that. She came online not long afterwards, “I went to talk to you the next day, but your team had already left.”

“I’m coming now,” he offered.

“I’m waiting.” Joss smirked, “Already put the New York Pride House on call.” 

He smiled. It was small, and it was frail, but it hers. “I’ll see you there.”

John startled awake from the blue dream to the soft noises of the airplane. Children crying in economy, the squeak and thunk of someone shifting in their chair, and the faint sound of another passenger’s music. With the power of the blue dream still flowing through him, the flight attendant leaning over him was a caricature of a broken doll. Their face covered in makeup caked on to cover the cracks beneath, like a porcelain doll put back together poorly. 

He blinked, and the other man offered the blanket in his hand with a sheepish smile. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Water?” John had slumped over while he slept, and though he hadn’t disturbed anyone, his throat had grown dry and there was a knot in his neck that would not be fun.

“Of course,” The flight attendant said, making quick work at the drinks cart for first class. “Anything else?” 

“How much longer until we reach New York?” 

“Approximately six hours, sir.” Then he reached over the empty chair to queue the screen for a map of the flight’s path. “You can check the map. The capitan doesn’t expect to hit any foul weather, so we should arrive on time.”

John gave the attendant a tight smile as the other man went to assist another passenger. Six hours. Only six hours and he would land in Manhattan. A subway ride or a taxi to midtown and then just a couple of blocks to the Pride House. It was so close and yet still so far away. 

Six hours was long enough for some more sleep. He could only imagine that showing up at the Pride House, he would not get much of it while he explained about being an AWOL CIA Agent. As he pulled the blanket up and settled in for another nap, John considered what he knew about his Sentinel. It wasn’t much, but at the top of that list, John knew she was gorgeous. Inside and out. Whoever she was, John would not have to hide a grimace when he looked at her. He knew that.

*******

Far away from her guide, Joss startled awake just before her alarm and groaned, “You didn’t think to get a name?!” 

Her phone had jolted her out of the blue dream yesterday with a call from Reagan’s detectives about avenues of investigation. Which had kept her running all afternoon. She barely had the energy to grab sandwiches for dinner before rolling into bed, let alone time to daydream about her Guide.

Sleep, though, had allowed her brain to wallow in the memory of the blue dream, and though her senses on the psionic plane were only as keen as a mundane’s, Joss could practically taste her guide well she woke, and his face was etched in her memory. Every line of stress and wrinkle of sorrow stood out to her eyes. 

Joss swore they wouldn’t always be there. Give her a month and her Guide wouldn’t remember anything from before her Nana’s cooking, or her Taylor’s hugs. 

Taylor’s alarm went off for the second time.

“Taylor!” She pounded on the bedroom door, “School!”

“No!” Came the muffled groan, but Joss only lingered long enough to hear her son roll out of his bed. The thump as he landed on his knees on the carpet always made her joint throb in sympathy. Sentinels might not have it as bad, but aging hit everyone. 

As she prepared lunches, sandwiches and fruit and the sentinel-safe heart-healthy chips Taylor said his friends teased him about, Joss considered her home territory with a Guide in mind. The apartment was a two-bedroom in a converted brownstone, a spacious kitchen and living room, but there wasn’t a dining room. One bath, which was bad enough with one adult and a teenager. Two adults and a teenager? Joss shuddered at the thought.

“How do you feel about moving?”

Taylor froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth, “Why? You’ve never talked about moving before. We’ve been here forever.”

“We get a break on rent because the idea of a Sentinel in the building makes people feel safer,” Joss admitted. “And we have talked about moving in the past.”

“Yeah, when Nana gets tired of taking care of her old halfway home.” Taylor rolled his eyes, “News flash mom, Nana’s going to die in that old building. Nothing’s going to pry her out of it.”

“Alright,” Joss nodded, she wasn’t so sure about this. There were a lot of variables still in the air, but she tried really hard not to lie to her son. “Truth is, my guide came online yesterday, and I’m not sure how great this place is at blocking empathic noise.”

“Ma, that’s awesome! Your Guide, woah, that’s so exciting!” Joss relaxed against the counter as Taylor flailed in excitement and lost his mind. “Is it a guy or a girl? Or, oh, uh, non-binary? That’s cool, too. Are they in New York?” He bit his lip, “Will we have to leave New York?” Before she could interrupt, Taylor shook his head, “Which would be- okay, it wouldn’t be fun, I’ve never been a new kid in my life. And you’ve got a great job with Alpha Finch, but it totally shouldn’t be the Guide who always changes careers. We’re covering the Guide Emancipation as part of Civil Rights, and the situation before was not cool. Not cool at all, Mom.”

With a laugh, Joss settled her hand over his mouth and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Eat your breakfast and maybe I can answer your questions.”

“Yeah, okay.” Taylor shoved a spoonful of soggy cereal in his mouth, made a face at the unpleasant texture, but didn’t complain. Just waved a hand like now that he was eating, she had to spill all the details.

“I don’t have a name, but it’s a man.” She wrinkled her nose, “He wore men’s fashion and a decidedly spicy after shave; so until further notice we’ll say my guide is a man.”

“Okay, cool. Your guide’s a dude.” Taylor hid a brief smile behind his juice glass. “Is he in New York?”

“No,” Joss rubbed a hand over the ache in her chest, “he’s coming but last I could guess, he was probably in Europe.”

“Woah,” Taylor blinked, “I’d never even thought we might have to move countries.” He bit his lip, “You did tell him you have a great job with Alpha Finch, right? Like maybe he’d be okay working with you at the Project?”

She had to shake her head, “We only met in a blue dream. We didn’t talk about any of that stuff, but he is coming to New York. I think the odds are good he’s open to a new job.”

“So, moving.” Taylor looked around the apartment, his eyes lingering on the same things that hers had. “Yeah, okay. He’ll need space too, right?”

“He and I will discuss it together, but yes, I think we’ll need to consider something bigger.” 

“Can we go looking today?”

“No, you can’t skip school!” Joss scolded with a smile, swatting her son gently with his lunch bag. “Finish your breakfast.”

“But we’re moving,” Her son whined.

“Taylor, we still don’t know when he’ll get here!” Joss laughed as she pushed him out the door, “It could be tomorrow or next week! You can’t miss a week of school!”

“I could!” He said, digging in his heels. “We could use the time preparing to move! What if we don’t and he thinks we don’t care about him?!”

“Taylor, he’ll probably want to have some say, anyway. You’re going to school.” And that was final. No matter how much he complained about it.

“Mom!” 

**T + 32 hours and counting**

The New York Pride House had an excellent community resource list. Everything from cleaners to babysitters to Sentinel-safe taxi companies. It was great. Resources on housing, not so much.

Well, alright, that wasn’t true. The resources were fine. It was Joss’s persnickety filters that weren’t working out. Joss needed sentinel-safe housing, within Taylor’s school district, that was built or renovated with guides in mind within the last five years. It needed at least three bedrooms, an open kitchen and living space, and two bathrooms. 

Thank god she could be flexible about the budget because adding that filter would likely take her from slim pickings to no pickings.

It wasn’t that she hated the idea of living near her Alphas. They were good men who worked hard to keep the civilians in the city safe. Finch and Ingram were just very, very private, and living in the same building, working at the same office, was going to lend itself to all sorts of weird and invasive situations. Joss frankly wasn’t sure who was more unprepared for the situation, her or her Alphas.

While the Sentinel was certain that the Pride building would be safe, she was also certain that if Harold Finch didn’t take over and paper the walls with original Picasso and gild the faucets it would be a miracle worthy of sainthood.

Her door slid open with a small beep and some displaced air. “Having trouble with Reagan?”

Joss sighed, “No actually, I found the idiot who decided it would be a good idea to send death threats to the Chief of Police. I handed it off to the detectives in charge of his case before coming into work this morning.”

“Tell me about it?”

“I woke up this morning craving a breakfast sandwich on a bagel,” Joss said, turning both their attention to her crime board. “There’s a great bodega about two blocks down from my place that makes Sentinel-safe food. It’s fantastic. But it got me thinking about bodegas.” 

The face in the center screen was of a white man, perhaps forty years old, and the collection of receipts with locations and time stamps had him following Chief Reagan around for the past month. 

“I honestly don’t know how Reagan’s security detail didn’t spot him.”

Harold hummed. “Do we know his motivations, yet?”

“He lost his daughter as a civilian fatality during a raid against a mob family about a year ago. He just wanted revenge.” 

“The human mind baffles and fascinates me by turns,” Harold said quietly. “I can understand grief and anger, but to plot to kill the Chief of Police? I can’t imagine how he thought he would get away with that.”

“I don’t think he wanted to,” Joss admitted quietly, “The Machine offered me some details earlier that suggested this man wasn’t planning on surviving the attempt.”

Harold turned from the board, “Perhaps that’s the real reason he went after Chief Reagan and his security.”

Joss nodded, “I, of course, informed Chief Reagan of his security’s lax behavior when I sent the case file over to the detectives. He wasn’t thrilled.”

“I imagine not,” Harold said with a small grin. “But that’s your case, Joss. What are you doing now? You should be at home, taking your well deserved twenty-four hours off.”

“That doesn’t start until cuffs go on the bad guys.” Joss pointed out, then swung her screen around. “Just wasting time house hunting. It’s not looking too good.”

“Trying to stay in Taylor’s school district?”

“He doesn’t talk about a lot of friends,” Joss said thoughtfully, “but he seemed pretty uncomfortable with the idea of being a new kid. So, I’ve been looking with that in mind.”

“While trying desperately not to obsess over how the NY Pride House hasn’t called you back yet?” Harold smiled.

“Yes, oh my god, so much.” Joss hung her head and took a deep breath of her Alpha Guide’s cinnamon and vanilla scent of amusement.

Harold wheeled himself around her desk and pushed her office chair out of the way. “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing some light snooping if you know where to start.”

Joss resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t have a name, but I have a location and a date he would have been in Afghanistan.”

“Excellent,” Harold’s fingers were already flying as he switched desktop views with his personal set up. “Which branch?”

“Army. Special Forces in 2005.” She said over his shoulder where she watched databases and classified servers fly by on the screen fast enough even sentinel eyes couldn’t keep up. “He would have been in Camp Dwyer in November of that year.”

“Stop me when you see him.” The pictures on the screen flashed by quickly. Not fast enough she couldn’t see them, but fast enough they should get through them fairly quickly.

Then she saw him. Blue eyes and dark hair with a square jaw and the corner of his lips quirked, like he knew the punchline to a joke no one else did. “Stop, that’s him.”

John Shaunessy. 6’2”, born in West Virginia on September 26, served eighteen years of honorable service. The list of combat deployments and commendations for meritorious service was long. So were the list of comments from previous commanding officers; things like ‘smart-assed son of a bitch saved my life disobeying orders’ or ‘that lucky bastard gets on my last nerve; wouldn’t go anywhere without him’. Just the type of stuff Joss was more than used to seeing in the service records of Special Forces soldiers. Except-

“Deceased? Harold, there’s no way he’s dead!” Joss sputtered, “I saw him! This is my guide!”

“Oh, I know, Joss.” Harold said, tapping lightly at the keyboard in thought. “This feels like something different.”

“Like what?” 

“Well, he’s not someone on the run from the law,” Finch offered, “at least not without an excellent reason. Possibilities too corrupt to protect the tribe don’t come online. No matter how uncomfortable the spiritual aspect makes some.”

“Like you,” Joss pointed out. 

She’d already been with the Irrelevant Project when Blair Sandburg, the Alpha Guide for the continent, had marched into the offices and practically strong-armed the other guide into walking the path of the shaman. Harold still had his phone set to automatically deny any call from Sandburg. 

“Not to mention the ongoing philosophical argument about what constitutes a tribe. Sentinels can come online in just about any sort of circumstance; war, gangs, mobs have even been known to have a Sentinel or two.”

“It’s guides that keep them out of such circumstances,” Harold admitted, “but that research isn’t popular.” He logged off the desktop and rolled his wheelchair back. “I’m going to do some research and see if I can’t find what dark hole swallowed your Guide, Joss. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Good luck,” She said, a sinking sensation in her stomach that releasing John from whatever he’d gotten lost in wouldn’t be as easy as asking politely. “That will not be fun.”

*******

There wasn’t really anything different about New York, compared to every other city. It smelt bad, had lots of rushing people, and the general emotional tone was so confused it should have given John whiplash. This was his home country, the one he’d ended up sacrificing his family for, but it was still his. The Agency was certain to be around, ready to stick their nose into things that weren’t any of their business. But even with all those concerns lingering in the back of his mind, John still felt freer here in the city of his Sentinel than he had anywhere since he was a child. 

John could feel his Sentinel. She was in the city, waiting for him, and with every closer step closer the ache behind his breast bone sharpened a little. Now he just had to get to her.

The multi-Pride community resource that was the New York Pride House, was less of a house and more of converted office space. There were hundreds all over the world now, but it had been the first of its kind a decade ago. In the wake of 9/11 and the complete chaos that had erupted in the city, the ten major Prides in the city had funneled resources and volunteers to create a safe place for sentinels and guides as hundreds came online in the disaster's wake. 

Few of the new community members had stayed in New York, instead they went home or enlisted or found territories and ways to help that fit their spirits better; but by then the New York Pride House had become an institution of its own. A neutral territory in a city of millions. A fourteen-story building in the heart of Manhattan with the equipment and the professionals to assist with any problem to the community. Not one pride’s accomplishment, but the accomplishment of all of them. 

It was where John was headed. Just four blocks to the south of the airport. He would check in with the Pride House and ask for his Sentinel. And when she was finally there, when he could see her and she could touch him, then he’d try to explain what type of utter mess he’d gotten himself into with the black pit of American intelligence.

Passing an alleyway not quite in the territory of the New York Pride House, John caught the sound of something suspicious. He stopped just out of foot traffic for the corner coffee shop and looked down at the crumpled paper like he hadn’t made up his mind while his ears strained to hear the sound again.

There was a low metal groan, like a dumpster pushed enough to move on sticky wheels, then the sharp sound of a barehanded slap. 

“Where’s the money?” A man snarled.

“I-I don’t have it!” The voice that replied was slightly higher and wavered a bit.

John tightened his fingers on the edge of the paper menu. Casting the little bit of power he’d managed to figure out in the last thirty hours out towards the alleyway wasn’t simple. Decoding the sensations that returned were even less so. John couldn’t really tell who was in the alley and who was in the buildings that lined it. But it didn’t take training to feel the malicious wave of energy from that direction, nor the increasingly desperate and hysterical panic that went right along with it.

He could see the New York Pride House. The large mural dedicated to Sentinels and Guides lost in duty during 9/11 was eye-catching. It was a blur of bright colors that even a block away left him feeling like his burdens weren’t so hard to bear. It was a powerful piece, and John wasn’t surprised it had caught the attention of art enthusiasts the world over. Someone had poured their heart and soul into it, and their audience could tell.

If he jogged through the foot traffic, John could be at there in five minutes. They would certainly be willing to send someone out to look at the situation. It was the New York Pride House, there would be dozens of sentinels and guides hanging out.

Except, it wasn’t really a lounge, was it? And the Pride House’s mission was to provide services for sentinels and guides in distress, not police the community. Not really. 

And who knew if, by the time someone was sent, the people in the alley wouldn’t be gone? Or dead. 

John took a deep breath and flattened the abused paper. This was what had gotten him into that pit with the CIA. Hell, it had gotten him into the military too. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Didn’t matter if it was hookers or high school students. John hadn’t ever been able to walk away from someone who needed his help. In his heart, he sent his Sentinel an apology. There was just one more thing he had to do before they could meet.


	3. Hunting Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned Stark woke as a Guardian during his rebellion against King Aerys Targaryon. It's only after he swears to Robert Baratheon that he realizes he might have just exchanged one monstrous king for another. _Good men still hunt monsters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Off-Screen Rape is in this fic. It's not graphic in any way, but I do deal with the fallout of it in a way that might be considered 'dwelling'. It's at the end of the story.
> 
> I'm really not pleasant to any character in this fic except Syrio, lol. It's just not at GRRM levels of 'not pleasant'. 
> 
> Also, I've already decided that this fic will be entirely replotted and written. It needed more space.
> 
> Don't forget to comment and tell me if you liked the fic enough to read more. Otherwise, it may end up forgotten in the mess of my Works In Progress folder.

**~ Part One ~**

"This I swear to the gods of my father and of me," Ned finished by route where he knelt on the floor of the throne room. The ghosts of the dead wailing in his ear as only a guardian could hear. 

The shade of his father stood in the corner, shadows like flames licking at his feet, the noose still tight around his neck. Brandon was nowhere he could see, but ghostly bodies packed the throne room, the small number of men leaving far too much room between them for the dead. 

"Rise, Lord Stark, Warden of the North," Robert, King Robert that was, boomed. "I am pleased to accept your fealty."

"Many thanks, your grace."

"None of that now, Ned," Robert complained as he beckoned the Guardian to follow him to the more intimate chambers of the Small Council. "You were cursing me with everything from bone rot to balding on the march."

"The situation has changed," Ned remarked placidly as Lord Jon Arryn and Ser Brynden Tully filed in behind them. "It wouldn't be proper."

A maid was putting out meat, cheese, and fresh wine on the table. She blushed a pretty shade of red when King Robert groped a handful of her ass and pinched. Ned wondered distantly if the quickening the Guardian could hear in her womb was from Robert. The Northern Lord considered if future Maesters might track the progression of Robert's host by the birth of the black-haired bastards he'd left in his wake.

"Like that's ever mattered before," Robert grumbled as he threw himself into the small throne at the head of the table. "Don't just stand there, picking a fucking seat. Your raven said that you found Lyanna dead?"

"Yes," Ned said, sitting reluctantly at the table of the Small Council. "She died of fever just before I arrived; I was too late to do any good."

"Damn it," Robert cursed, "no reason not to marry Tywin's daughter now."

"Lord Lannister will be pleased," Jon Arryn noted. 

"Bah, bad news for another day." Robert refilled his wine cup, "Word in the Keep is you showed up to the city with a child, Ned. Got yourself a Snow, did you? Where is the kid?"

"I left him with my party outside the city walls," Ned said, "I don't expect to be staying long, and hauling a child, servants, and wet nurse through the King's Landing seemed an unnecessary hassle."

"Not staying long? But the wedding-"

"Negotiations shouldn't take long," Jon Arryn hurried to reassure his foster son. "Perhaps a month, and if we impress on Lord Lannister how quickly we should arrange the wedding, I'm sure it shouldn't take but three months to prepare."

Robert appeared mollified. Ned considered the pitcher of wine on the table. He wasn’t normally one for drinking, but this might be a conversation that could use wine. "Fine, enough time for you to travel home. Dump your bastard, kiss your child, and get another one in your wife before you come back here for the wedding."

"I intend to have Lysa travel down to King's Landing," Lord Arryn said. "I'm certain she would appreciate the opportunity to visit with her sister."

"Excellent idea," Robert beamed, the same smile that always encouraged the audience to be just as pleased with his plan as he was. "Bring Catelyn down to King's Landing; the other Lords of the Small Council will have families. The Court will be an entertaining distraction for your wife, while you sit on the Small Council.

"Jon has already agreed to be the Hand of the King, and he says he has a man in mind for Master of Coin. And of course, there's Lord Varys as Master of Whispers," Robert shuddered, and Ned commiserated. Even blessed with enhanced senses, he would be hard-pressed to trust Lord Varys farther than he could throw him. "And Stannis as Master of Ships—I intend to give him Dragonstone and have Renly as Lord of Storm's End—which just leaves Master of Laws. As I told Jon, I can't think of a better man for Master of Laws than Ned!"

Ned popped a small slice of cheese into his mouth, to buy some time to think. There was some irony that he was fully prepared to use every inch of his knowledge of Westeros and First Men law to get out of being the Master of Laws.

"Have you considered Ser Brynden Tully, here?" Ned asked, "He is well known for being a just man and a noble knight."

Ser Brynden honestly looked horrified, and Ned had to swallow back some measure of guilt. Not enough to take it back, though, because the idea of living in King's Landing as a Guardian was inviting a special torture. His kind might do well enough in the cities of the North like White Harbor, Wintertown, or Torrhen's Square; but they were known there, and the rules were clear. No one would ignore those rules just because they were inconvenient.

"Ned," Robert growled, "I want you. Be my Master of Laws."

"I can't." Ned said, refusing to apologize. "The North needs me. My family needs me. I sent a large host marching home, but the war destroyed some Houses completely; their property and dependents need to be appropriately bequeathed. I have a wife I haven't seen in nine months, hardly really know at all, two infant sons, and a much younger brother. White Harbor is a week from King's Landing if the weather is good, but Winterfell is three weeks past that. You cannot ask me to stay here in King's Landing when everyone who needs me is in Winterfell."

"I'm the bloody king," Robert snarled, "I'll make it an order, then you'll have to stay!"

"You could," Ned swallowed a tart green grape—rare in the North—the best they received were raisins and wine. "But the treaty between King Aegon the First and Torrhen Stark is clear, and the later laws are even clearer. The King cannot compel service from a Guardian of the First Men. You may request our services, through the Lord Guardian, during peacetime for a period no more than three moons. You may request a Hunt, during which any able-bodied Guardian agrees they will pursuit their target until the end, no matter the time away from their territory. The Lord Stark may command Guardians as part of the Northern host during times of war. 

"The King cannot use the senses of Guardian, or the magic of their Forest Spouse for spying or torture. The King cannot compel their service outside of those situations agreed to by both the Guardian and the Lord Stark. The King cannot try a Guardian for damages, or deaths during a period of wilding. The King cannot keep a Guardian separate from their Forest Spouse for any reason, ever. The King cannot try a Guardian for disobedience in any situation that could result in the death, torture, or permanent injury of their Forest Spouse outside of war."

"You don't honestly believe that old children's bedtime story, Lord Stark?" Ser Brynden's expression was the height of indignation and pity. "You must have taken a hit to the head, rattled it."

"I could tell you what you had for breakfast," Ned smirked behind his wineglass. "Or describe the perfume your mistress wore to bed last night. You could take Lord Arryn into the other room to tell a secret, and I would tell King Robert the truth before you even got back in the room."

"There are more of you? Guardians?" Lord Barristan asked from where he stood against the wall behind the King, "Is it all five senses?"

"All five senses," Ned agreed, considering the old knight. "The census five years ago suggested an average of two guardians for every hundred people in the North. It's a good enough accounting, though the numbers are higher in territories closer to the Wall."

"Lord Barristan, don't tell me you believe this!" Ser Brynden sputtered.

"I know I led armies for the Targaryens against Northern forces that seemed to predict our moves." Selmy was staring at Ned, but his attention was somewhere else. "I know they seemed to have archers that could hit a target hundreds of paces further than our own, and that in battle some of their men appeared to have the strength of ten, not even feeling their wounds until the enemy was gone. And even then they often pursued unto death, theirs or their opponents."

Ned swallowed hastily, "to be fair, some of those men were just Umbers, not guardians at all." 

Barristan waved him off, "Yes, Ser Brynden, when faced with an explanation of all the things that better belong in children's stories but that I saw—I believe him."

"Damn Targaryens, damn dragon seed," Robert snarled; Ned's keen hearing picked up the sharp sound of metal on metal as Robert crushed his cup. "Jon, could we-"

"No." Ned interrupted, not moving an inch in the face of Robert's anger. "I will never endorse the abrogation of Northern law. If that's what you're looking for, you don't have enough men."

Robert settled back into a quiet seething, probably more upset that Ned wouldn't agree to his insanity than anything else. Ser Barristan cleared his throat.

"Is there any chance some of your kin might be convinced that service to the crown is a worthwhile endeavor? I have openings for taste testers and guardsmen and even Kingsguard."

"You're never going to get a Guardian to swear oaths to Andal gods." Ned said softly. There was no law that protected a Guardian from actions taken directly against the King. "You're a good man, Ser Barristan, but a bonded Guardian wouldn't be able to maintain vows of chastity."

Robert huffed, "There's nothing I can say that will change your mind? I'm king now, I could offer you more than that dreary old castle."

"I like that dreary old castle," Ned said dryly. He pondered the idea of a drinking game. One sip for every time the new king made an insensitive comment, "My family needs me. And I honestly, can't wait to see them."

"Speaking of family, Lord Stark," Ser Brynden finally said, and Ned cued into the old knight's behavior with the focus that had kept him alive on the battlefield. The Blackfish had shifted back from the table; sitting on the edge of the chair but with enough distance between the table and his body to move quickly. Paired with the rapid beat of his heart, Ned was sure he would not like whatever Ser Brynden was working up to. "I have to ask, for my niece. Is the child actually yours?"

Ned stared at the Blackfish, noticing in the back of his mind that the room had gone dangerously quiet. 

"What do you mean, Ser Brynden?" Jon Arryn frowned, his wine cup frozen before his lips. "Ned says the child is his, he wouldn't be the first man to stray during war."

"Just, honorable, Lord Eddard Stark, well known in practically the whole seven kingdoms for taking his oaths most seriously." Ser Brynden said, his attention still on Ned. Just as Ned's hadn't wavered either. "But the boy child he was seen on the road with would be just a few months younger than my own Catelyn's."

"What are you saying?" Robert grit out.

"I think it's suspicious that honorable Lord Eddard Stark who never breaks his word, tracks down his sister, dying of fever in bed, and returns home with a child. A perfectly Northern child. Is the boy a Blackfyre?"

Ned didn’t know what to say. The boy was perfectly Northern in appearance and as a Guardian likely to stay that way. He’d never considered what he could say should anyone question him. In his hesitation, Ned had given Robert just enough time to put the facts together. The King stood with a roar. A mass of fury and thwarted bloodlust. If given the opportunity, Robert would likely ride all the way to his camp to kill the babe himself. He’d revel in the bloodbath. Ned couldn’t allow that. He didn't let Baratheon take more than a couple of steps before employing the same strategy he always had when Robert was in a rage.

He punched the man in the face.

Ned had to admit, he probably hadn't been as gentle as he was in the past. Robert had been in rare form these last couple of months, and Ned was done. He was done cleaning up his friend's messes. He was done being disrespected for his name, his kingdom, or his status as a Guardian. These Southern lords were so convinced in their own superiority he wouldn't be surprised if they thought they were the gods made flesh.

"Ned!" Jon Arryn shouted, stepping bodily in front of Lord Barristan. "You can't hit the King!"

"Robert wanted things to be normal so badly," Ned snarled, "he should have seen it coming."

"Ned, you bastard," Robert sat up with a groan, moving his jaw gingerly. Spat into his hand a broken tooth. "Never hit me that hard before."

"You bloody fucking idiot," Ned spat. "You lost your head at the idea of Rhaegar's child. Did you think I would just let you kill him like Lannister served the Targaryen children on a fucking platter? It doesn't fucking matter where Jon came from, he's my son and he'll be raised a Stark."

"It matters if he's a Targaryen," Jon Arryn disagreed. "It matters if he becomes a point around which the Targaryen loyalists can rally."

Ned stepped back from Robert, so the idiot King could slowly get to his feet and wave off his Kingsguard. Ser Barristan had been standing just out of reach with his hand on his sword, fretting over his oaths to protect the King. The Lord Commander settled back at the King's behavior, unhappy. But he'd have been no more pleased with the outcome had he drawn his sword on Robert's foster brother. 

"He's a Stark. He'll be raised as a Stark in Winterfell, and perhaps when he's grown he'll be Lord Guardian of Winterfell. The only name he'll ever know is Jon Stark."

Ser Brynden choked and sputtered, slammed his cup down with a slosh of the wine instead. "You mean to ask for legitimacy? Catelyn will never agree," He turned to the King, "and I advise you, King Robert, Lord Tully will not forget the insult if it comes out that you agreed to legitimize this bastard."

"I have to agree," Jon Arryn said with a frown, "it wouldn't do to upset Lord Tully."

Lord Tully was an old man with an illness that would kill him slowly over the rest of his life. He was bitter, conniving, saw his family as pawns to place about the seven kingdoms to increase his own standing and made more enemies than friends. Lord Tully’s opinion had stopped mattering to Ned on the day Robert ascended to the throne.

"Ned," Robert said with a quiet rumble, dismay carved into the creases on his face.

"Jon is a Guardian," Ned finally said, after biting back the first and second and third things he'd thought. "Under First Men law, that means that as Lord Guardian I have a legal responsibility to him, I don't have to Robb. It also means that regardless of whatever absurd social strictures the Seven make their faithful adhere to for piety mean absolutely nothing north of the Neck. All Guardians are legitimate in the North."

There'd been a time when all children had been legitimate; when the North had cared more about competency than bloodlines. Ned couldn't blame that on the Andal faith, though. There were records of cases during the time of the Five Crowns of the North, generations before the Andals arrived, that were evidence in Ned's mind that legitimacy was about property; not morals or children. 

"Catelyn won't like that," Ser Brynden grumbled.

Ned regained his seat and shook his head, "If Catelyn Tully knew she was going to marry a Stark for at least five years and never learned the ways of the First Men, then that's her problem."

"House Targaryen was exiled from Westeros," Jon Arryn interrupted. "We cannot allow your child to become a point of dissension. You say that he will be a Stark. Swear that he will never take up the Targaryen House colors or banners, that he agrees not to come south of the Neck for anything less than a royal summons or an act of war. Swear that he will never raise arms against House Baratheon."

The old Lord of the Eyrie was a clever man, and while there were loopholes in the oaths, none were such that would allow his son to act against the King of his own free and knowing will. That was sure to piss off his Tully wife, because that meant Ned would need to ensure his sons never forgot they were each other's shield and sword. He knew his foster brother, Robert, would not be a good king.

"I agree," Ned swore the oaths required for his son's life and promised that when Jon came of age at sixteen, he would bring both his sons to the capital to swear their oaths. He considered the angle of the shadows. It was nearing time he'd need to send a messenger to his party if Ned was going to be stuck tonight in this cesspool. "How did you end up punishing Clegane and Lorch? I understand that you're relieved that Princess Elia and her children didn't survive, but the crimes committed against them were horrible."

"Punish? Ha!" Robert belched. It echoed wildly in the vaulted ceilings of the Small Council chamber. "I fucking knighted them! Clegane and Lorch did me a damn good turn."

Ned paled, "Robert, they committed awful unspeakable acts against a defenseless woman and her children."

"They were dragon seed, whores for dragons, better dead than what I would do to them." Robert grunted, "Wish I'd been there. Wish I'd done it myself. Oh, I'd bathe in dragon's blood daily if I could."

Ned's blood ran with ice as he noted the rush of Robert's heartbeat and the smell of arousal that wafted off the Baratheon King like a perfume. Robert wasn't lying. Robert would kill women and children, he'd torture elders. Ned knew his foster brother could imagine it easily. If he could, Robert would have men and women of Valyrian descent hunted like animals, surrogate sacrifices for the Targaryen that had escaped his reach.

Ned looked up to catch sight of Princess Elia standing behind the table just beyond Lord Arryn and the new Baratheon king. She had massive black and blue bruising across her shoulders and chest. Her dress was ragged and torn, the crimson silk and cloth-of-gold hadn't stood a chance against Clegane's brutal hands. It took him a moment to realize that the runs of red down her skirt were blood.

First his father, victim of King Aerys, and now Princess Elia, the victim of King Robert. Ned hadn't much experience with the ways of the Old Gods or the methods of the greenseers, Howland would know better than him. But it didn't take training to make the connection between one violent king and the next. 

It made Ned quiet when Robert finally dismissed the group and bid Ned a safe journey back to 'that dreary, awful place', Ned bowed formally and thanked him. Turning on his heel to leave as quickly as possible, he set aside the thought that the Red Keep with its ghosts and its bloodstains felt more like a battlefield than practically anyone he'd ever stood on. He pitied the foolish noble who sought to call it home.

There was nothing of home in these walls. Nothing.

**~ Part Two ~**

Ned rode for the tent city of his host outside King's Landing like the Stranger was on his heels. Running away from the pain and grief he'd choked back in the Red Keep. Never once before had he worried that Robert wasn't a good man. He'd grown up with Robert, had stood with him at the memorial for his parents' deaths. Had stood as his witness in the Sept of the Eyrie when his daughter had been born. They'd been brothers just as strong as any relationship a man could be born with.

The man he'd sworn his oaths to had not been his brother. Ned wanted to believe that he was unrecognizable. That there was nothing of his foster brother in the monster who wanted children dead, but that wasn't true. Robert was there in the unending rage, in the man's inability to hear past his own good idea, in the shadow of cruelty Ned could remember from a dozen brawls he'd pulled Robert out of over the years. The throne had just pulled those traits forward. 

Like a mirror, Robert sat on the Iron Throne and it made him a reflection of all the Kings that had come before him. A pale reflection, not as cruel—yet—as Aerys and Maegor, but not as wise as Jaehaerys I or Maekar. The realm would not look at the Baratheon King and see House Targaryen, but they did not have the memory of the North. They did not see with a Guardian's eyes. Robert's own grandmother had been of house Targaryen. The love story of the ages.

Ned thought she'd weep from the pain of seeing her love so shattered. He handed off his horse to a guardsman from Winterfell to brush and stable. He was sick to his stomach with fear and rage and grief. Ned was fortunate he'd arrived in his own camp. He could barely see straight for the thoughts whirling about in his head.

"Halis," Ned greeted the sentry before his tent with a stiff nod, "someone is within?"

"Howland Reed, Lord Stark," the sentry outside his war tent addressed, "he's waiting with your pup."

Ned hesitated to enter, a possibility gathering like dawn on the field. "Halis, if you could inform the Lord Guardians of the camp that I would speak with them?"

"Of course, milord."

"Thank you."

Howland had laid Jon out beside the fire, just watching the child sleep. "I wasn't sure you would be back tonight. King Robert considers you a special friend, I thought for certain he'd want to honor you."

"He's no friend to the North, and I'd accept no honors." Ned grimaced as Howlend's head came up with a snap. "Perhaps that was poor taste."

"Perhaps," the Greenseer said faintly, staring at Ned. "What happened, Ned?"

"Much," He sighed, pouring himself a bowl of the stew left to warm beside the fire. "We cannot trust king Robert. He has no respect for the law and I fear that killing is too sweet a pleasure for him to set aside."

"There isn't much light, but even some distance is better than none." Howland gathered Jon against his chest, "My men and I can have Jon in Greywater Watch in less than a moon, Ned. We'll protect him. Baratheon won't-"

"Peace, Howland," Ned pressed his hand against the slighter man's shoulder and guided him back to his cushions. "King Robert is not coming after Jon. He knows, because Ser Brynden Tully is half again more perceptive than I'd wish; and thinks the matters of House Stark are his to lay claim to because his niece sits in Winterfell. The King has agreed that so long as Jon never takes up his sire's name or banners, and never goes south of the neck for less than a royal summons or war in the name of House Baratheon; Jon is safe from him."

"What happened then?"

"Can the gods give Guardians visions?"

"The gods can give anyone they want visions," Howland said dryly. "Guardians are perhaps more likely candidates than some. You had a vision?"

"I don't know what I saw," Ned admitted, as Halis stuck his head in the tent. He waved the leaders of the Guardians and the Forest Spouses in. "I know I saw the ghost of my father and the Princess Elia, and I know I had such a waking dream I swore I could smell the blood spilled in it."

"Is that what you asked us here for?" Lord Flint frowned, "I can't say that I could have more to say on visions than the Greenseer of House reed."

"In part," Ned said as he considered the men and women who had filled his tent. There was Gwynarthur Flint and his Forest Husband, Mikkel Tonnel from the Hill Clans, and Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island and her Forest wife Annette of Green’s Cove. 

"How can we help, milord?" Mikkel asked.

"I need help with two tasks. The first is hunting down Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch for the evils they did to Princess Elia and her children. The heads are to be sent to Sunspear for House Martell, that they might know that good men still hunt monsters."

"Well, we're not men," Maege Mormont huffed. Her Annette of Green's Cove laughed quietly, "but we're more than up to hunting down some monsters."

"Could skin 'em," Annette chuckled, "offer their blood to weirwood, bring home the skin for the hearth before our fire. Like any other hunt."

"Be careful," Ned cautioned with a grimace, "we do as we must, but it is not with the sanction of the King."

"Like ye said, Ned," Maege smiled grimly, "good men still hunt monsters."

"And the other thing?" Gwynth asked. 

"I want to believe what I saw was simply a nightmare," Ned shook his head. "As Lord Guardian, I can't afford to be wrong."

Maege frowned, "Ned, what is it?"

"I had a vision, that King Robert lusted after dragon's blood so much that he began hunting them."

"The Targaryens?" Annette shook her head, "They'll be in Essos by now."

"Substitutes, would be my guess," his Flint cousin stared at him with a squint. "You want a bonded pair to linger? See what happens?"

"It would have to be a woman and a man," Ned frowned, "Or perhaps two pairs of two in one house. They could pass as two couples in the sight of the Faith." 

"Damn Andals," Mikkel grumbled, curled tight around his Guardian. "Where do they get off-"

"We'll speak with our guardians and greenseers," Gwynarthur said over the ranting of his bonded. "We'll see someone in place in the crownlands to ask."

"Discretely," Ned cautioned. "A rumor or two can be dismissed. But truth from a Greenseer or a Guardian could be dangerous in this circumstance."

The gathered Lord Guardians agreed before departing to address their new tasks. Ned followed them by ear as they headed out into the camp. The Ladies of Bear Island were chatting about what the 'right weapons for hunting Mountains' were. While his Flint cousin Gwynarthur was ruing speaking over his Forest Husband as Mikkel turned his sharp tongue on his mate. 

Ned sighed in relief to have those duties off his back. He could trust those four to see it done right.

Jon woke squirming in need of feeding and a change. The wet nurse Wylla came in just before his crying became more than a whimper or two. She was good to him, careful and gentle, but Ned knew that if he'd had his choice, it would have been one of his kind nursing his son. A Greenseer who'd never let him wonder if he was loved, or a female Guardian who'd use the child to heal her shattered heart. 

The gods blessed bonded pairs with the strength of body and of heart, with a long life, and the constitution to endure the cold. That didn't mean that children weren't lost, stillborn or miscarried in the womb. 

"You're good with him," Ned noted quietly to his friend as they both watched the small bundle.

"He could have been mine," Howland said softly, eyes on the baby. 

"Howland," Ned said shocked, "Lyanna was your mate?"

The Crannogman nodded with a bittersweet smile, "I hadn't known how we would meet, only that it would be at Harrenhal. She was so beautiful. I'd seen our children since before I can remember even knowing her name. Twins first, Alys and Lyarra, followed some years later by three boys in quick succession; Eldwyn, Jeor, and Olys. 

"There was a chance, if Rhaegar had won and Lyanna had lived, that the future I saw could have come to be. We would have been happy. Our children would have been loved and grown happy, Jon included." Howland smiled grimly, "It was a good future. House Reed would have grown strong and the marsh kings would have risen from their watery graves before invaders would have made it through the Neck to attack Winterfell." 

"I'm so sorry, Howland." Ned ached for his friend who might once have been his brother. 

"Our grief is the same, don't dwell on it." Howland clasped Ned on the shoulder, "That future was washed away when Robert Baratheon killed the Last Dragon. Rhaegar could have been cowed with shame of taking a woman who didn't want him; Baratheon would never flinch. Now, my path lies in Greywater Watch. I cannot see the future of my House, but most men cannot. They manage fine." 

"I cannot offer you the son you should have had." The Lord Guardian said quietly, "My sister gave into my keeping and he is mine. But there is room enough in Winterfell for you; no one would blink to see you in the rooms of my Forest Husband. Lady Catelyn would be an annoyance, but it would be nice to share my life with a friend." 

The tent was quiet. Just the crackling of the fire and the suckling of Jon feeding as the shadows grew darker. Then Ned saw a smile curve the corner's of his friend's mouth as his eyes came back into focus. He gave a quiet laugh and a light—more hopeful than anything Ned had seen in Howland for months—entered his eyes. 

"The Old Gods have chosen your Forest Spouse, and they're being tugged closer with every breath." Howland clasped him again around the shoulders, practically giggling. "I wouldn't interfere even if I wanted to. You will be happy, Ned, and the grief that haunts your steps now will be like the memory of winter's chill. Nothing to keep you from embracing the heat of Summer. My friend, the wait will be worth it."

And Ned could do nothing but trust him. 

**~ Part Three ~**

"What the fuck?" Ned stared at the numbers, dragged the parchment closer, and went through the numbers again. They didn't change. "What the actual fuck?"

The Boltons were lying. It was true that the Red Kings had no love of guardians or greenseers. They'd had more threats to their rule from the guardians of their own people than the other kings of the North had ever posed. Certainly, when the Red Kings had finally fallen, they had gone down to a King of Winter, but that war would not have been so successful without the information provided by the guardians from the territory of the Dreadfort. 

There was simply no way that in ten years not a single Guardian had emerged from the population around the Dreadfort. Even if they were leaving and settling in other territories, those Lords would make a note of that in their own census. Ned was going to have to figure what was going on at the Dreadfort. 

Which meant dealing with Roose Bolton.

If there was ever a man who could be believed to work black magic and worship the Others, it was Roose Bolton. Except, the Lord of the Dreadfort hated even the idea that something existed with power over him. So Other worship was unlikely to be the cause of whatever shit was going on there. 

Ned sighed, that still left a lot of options though. Most of them violent and horrifying in their own right. He'd been home for long enough for the moon to come full again and the study of the Lord Stark of Winterfell looked the same as it always had, messier perhaps, but the same it had been while his father ruled from the large oak desk. Ned felt like an imposter. Surely he was only pretending? 

He hadn't been the heir. It had been Brandon's place to learn the ins and outs of the politics of the North. If southern Lords played their games for power over that death-chair in King's Landing, then the war in the North was the Game of Winter. Just as or more likely to kill than the Game of Thrones.

If his father had an agreement with Roose to look away, Ned didn't know of it. And as Lord Guardian, he couldn't do the same. If Roose was killing the guardians and greenseers that emerged in his territory, and Ned had to believe he was, then he couldn't stand aside and continue to allow it to happen. He would need evidence though, and that would not be easy to find.

Ruling the North well was an immense pressure that weighed down on the Guardian and his sight blurred around the edges as he took deep deliberate breaths. 

"Sometimes the world can be too much," Brandon had taught Ned when they'd both been boys running around the training grounds with wooden swords. "And you need to stop and just breathe. Whether you're lost in the woods or hiding from determined ladies at a dance, stop and remember to breathe, Ned."

Brandon was kneeling beside him at their father's desk, the ligature mark of Aerys's choke collar standing out brilliantly against the otherwise washed-out shadow of his form. His eyes held neither concern nor laughter, and his mouth didn't crease in either a frown or a smile, but Ned imagined that his brother's ghost still loved him. 

"It should have been you, Brandon." Ned whispered as the shade dissipated, "I don't have any idea what I'm doing."

"If you'll forgive my saying so, milord," Rodrick Cassel said from the doorway, "but no one ever really does."

Ned settled back in his father's chair and cleared his throat, "Did we have a meeting scheduled, Ser Rodrick?"

"No, lad." The older Guardian offered something softer than the usual stern frown, "You've got guardians all across Winterfell in a fit though. You stopped breathing, my lord."

Ned flushed and looked away. He wouldn't lie, but he didn't have to see the displeasure on the former Lord Guardian of Winterfell's face. "It happens. Never for long and never in battle, but I can't really help it. Sometimes the world is too much for me to cope with."

"I've seen it before," Ser Rodrick said, surprising Ned. "The Old Gods smiled at you if it's never gotten you in danger, milord. Is there anything you want us to do when we hear you in one?"

Ned blinked stupidly as he realized that as Lord Guardian of Winterfell, a title that hadn't been held by the Lord of Winterfell in at least three generations, that he was the first focus of every Guardian in his castle and would be until his death. The man sitting before the Lord's desk had been the Lord Guardian for his father. And Ser Rodrick had been training his nephew Jory Cassel to take over as Lord Guardian of Winterfell after him. 

Except Ned was not only a stronger Guardian than either Cassel, but he was the Stark of Winterfell as well. And when the Stark of Winterfell was a Guardian, they were always the Lord Guardian of Winterfell. Always.

Ned could feel the room spinning faintly as he deliberately forced air through his lungs. "Fresh air," He said finally, "a glass of wine after. If I'm stuck too long, touching would not be wrong."

Ser Rodrick stood immediately and opened the window behind the Lord's desk. The clean crisp Northern air whipped through the room, upsetting some documents and bringing the fresh scent of clean snow. "I will tell the other guardians and their forest spouses. The Maester has smelling salts...?"

Ned shook his head, "No. That won't help at all."

"I'll make sure that's known as well."

Distantly, Ned heard crying. His boys in the nursery, wet, tired, hungry, or lonely. They were making it known, and Ned ached to go to them. He would watch over them the day long if he could. Press them tight to his chest and secure them to his heart like the washerwomen did, if he'd be allowed. Drag their crib into his office and spend the day staring at them, just watching them sleep.

It would certainly shock his wife and her Southern servants. He could hear the strident tones even now remarking on the shame and how it simply wasn't done! How barbarian of the North to actually care about the childhoods of their children. The indignity Lady Catelyn was suffering was immense indeed. 

The wind whistled through the courtyard and the sound shifted a little, bringing with it the heavy scent of the perfume the Southerns favored. Ned sighed, he hadn't just been imagining his wife's voice; he was actually hearing it. The Lady Stark's sewing room opened on the same courtyard the Lord's study did. He could hear her complaints through the open window.

"If you don't mind, laddie," Ser Rodrick said, his attention on the window, "I'd've never imagined such a beauty could hide such a cruel heart."

"She's a southerner," Ned said again, "her ideas are not our ideas."

"She's not getting used to it though," the former Lord Guardian pointed out. 

"No, she's not."

The Lord's study had been the front lines in the Winterfell war between the Old Faith and the Seven. Lady Catelyn had brought with her a retinue of thirty servants and two ladies. She'd arrived with Robb almost five moons before Ned and had been shocked that Winterfell lacked a Sept. Benjen had been adamant that there would be no Sept in Winterfell. 

She had protested that without a Sept in Winterfell, the household would have to travel to White Harbor for Robb's dedication. Benjen had been firm that no Lord of Winterfell was going to be dedicated to any gods except the Old Gods. It was that argument Ned had walked in on the first day that he had returned to Winterfell. It was still raging between the servants.

A calm and happy house Winterfell was not.

If Ned had not been the Lord Guardian, if his position as the Stark of Winterfell had not made him the Lord Guardian of the whole of the North, perhaps he would have built her a small sept for peace in his marriage bed. But just the idea of a house of the Andal gods making a home in Winterfell made him furious. It made the direwolf spirit within him snarl and thirst for blood. 

Guardians were made by the Old Gods. Their abilities pulled from the hearts and minds of the First Men. But their animal spirits were pulled from the weirwood of the gods. Ned could tolerate talk of the Seven, but there would be no acceptance in Winterfell. Never.

Needless to say, Ned hadn't shared his wife's bed since their marriage night. No matter how forgiving she had sounded. No Guardian would ever sleep with someone who still smelt of disgust for their clan. And the whole of the North was Ned's Clan.

And the feeling of a looming threat to his clan was flourishing in the back of his mind.

"How many more Guardians were called to the Wall?" Ned asked Ser Rodrick. The man might have stayed to ensure he kept breathing, but Ned was practical. There was no reason he couldn't use the older man's help.

"Two more pairs from Winterfell," Ser Rodrick replied, "and accounts to the Guardian's Keep of another pair from Flint's Finger."

"Not Gwynth and Mikkel?"

"No, a younger pair, two boys not yet fifteen."

Which made eight pairs in the last three moons. Likely more felt it who hadn't yet left, Benjen had admitted that he felt it. Ned's younger brother hadn't been willing to follow the call yet. But Ned wasn't hiding anything from his younger brother, he was in over his head and just having Benjen in Winterfell was a support Ned wasn't sure he could do without. The idea of being the only adult Stark in Winterfell sounded more lonely than should be possible in a castle full of people. 

Ned knew he wouldn't be able to keep his brother forever, though. Since the banners had trickled back into their home territories, Winterfell's Guardian's Keep had received ravens from all over the North as pairs started making their way to the Wall. These two boys from Flint's Finger would make the youngest pair on the Wall. It was the stuff of Nightmares.

The North was not prepared for a Long Night. They’d never forgotten the Others, but so often they reminded themselves that monsters can look like people too—Gregor Clegane was certainly a horror from one of old Nan's stories—that Ned wondered if the North had forgotten how to kill monsters that didn’t look like people. The tales were old and crumbling in his mind. There had been something of dragonglass Ned remembered faintly, and fire, but nothing that he could remember well. 

"Take a deep breath, milord," Ser Rodrick said from the side of the desk where he crouched, and Ned flushed hotly. He'd lost time again. What kind of Lord Stark, let alone a Lord Guardian Stark, panicked so easily? 

"None of that now," the old Knight said, cupping the back of his head, "You're stronger than you think. You can do this, better you don't have to do it alone. What's the first problem?"

"How do you kill the dead?"

"No." Ser Rodrick said flatly, "That's a worry for another day. There will be far more signs of the Long Night coming than a couple of pairs heading up to the Wall. Pick something else."

Ned groped mentally, gaze casting about his desk for the next most pressing issue. The thief in Wintertown had been caught. He'd already approved the Karstark's request to harvest wood in the Wolfswood for their new bridge. The village downstream had already been sent aid. His eye caught on the census data. "The Dreadfort."

"Alright," Ser Rodrick said, moving to stand back in front of the desk, "what about it?"

"They've been lying."

"Well," Ser Rodrick said with a grim smile, "they'll regret that."

**~ Part Four ~**

Breakfast with House Martell was very entertaining. The spread was varied and delicious. And Syrio's cup of sweetwater was never empty for long. The open patio faced into the sea breeze and the wind carried with it a sweet smell from the lemon trees. There were several children about, stopping every so often for more water and snacks. Prince Doran had one and Prince Oberyn had two, three feisty little girls that would certainly be a handful to raise.

"Children are a blessing," Prince Doran said with a tired smile.

"A messy one," Prince Oberyn qualified with a smirk. 

"Oberyn says you have no family, Master Forel, is that correct?" The Princess of Dorne had a chilly demeanor, and for all that she held a small child in her lap, she wasn't being particularly attentive. "Do you have hopes to marry? I'm told the position of First Sword is usually for life."

"The Sealord of Braavos is merciful," was what Syrio eventually said, after clearing his palette with more sweetwater. What the Sealord really was, was superstitious. And when he'd asked Syrio what drew his attention away from his duties and Syrio admitted he felt a pull west, the man had ended his contract on the spot and offered him quite the gift in parting. "It was amicable; and while I wish to have a family, I imagine it will be even harder here than it was in Braavos."

"You have an excellent reputation. Left your employer in good standing. Have ample funds to take care of a wife and family," Princess Mellario listed. "What other obstacles are there? If it is the security of a position; Oberyn speaks of you highly. Doran would certainly not turn away the training of the First Sword of Braavos."

"Indeed, not." Doran said, his gaze was intent on Syrio, but the former First Sword could tell that Doran was not anxious for such a circumstance. 

It was a relief to Syrio. Men in positions of power got cranky when told no, and he could feel that whatever tug had brought him west wasn't satisfied yet.

"Ah, but it's the 'wife' that'd be problematic, isn't it old friend?" Oberyn teased gently, "after all you're far more interested in swords than their sheaths."

Mellario sputtered, and Doran groaned, though Syrio just laughed. He wasn't ashamed of his tastes, never had been. And the god he worshipped didn't care. "That's one way to put it, certainly."

"And you're gods have no problem with that?" The Princess finally said, biting into her food with more anger than the poor pastry deserved. 

"I can't claim to be a devote," Syrio said cautiously, "I follow the many faced god. He certainly does not care what I get up to in my bed." 

Unless, of course, it was an assassination. He cared about those.

The Prince of Doran blinked, "I'm not even sure what to ask after that."

Syrio had to smile. Finding such acceptance of the Many Faced God outside of Braavos was unusual. Though perhaps not complete, as he watched Princess Mellario delicately finish her meal and excuse herself. At best, her reception was frosty.

"Alright," Oberyn swigged his wine, "Mellario's gone, how about you actually tell us what you're doing in Westeros. The Sealord might be merciful, but he'd not just let go of a contract with someone like you Syrio unless he had a compelling reason."

Syrio sat forward at the table, "The Sealord believes the gods have touched me and I cannot say that he is wrong. I woke from a sound sleep some weeks ago with a tug in my chest urging me west. It drove me to distraction."

"And of course the Sealord canceled your contract so that you could follow this feeling?" Doran nodded, "Likely fed by no minor concern for his own life if you were so distracted."

Syrio frowned, "I've never failed my charge, but I can admit that the duties I performed were suffering for my preoccupation." 

"So the Water Gardens are simply a resting place before you try once again to find your next destination." Oberyn frowned, "I had wished you were here to stay, old friend."

"I know," was all the Braavosi could say.

"My Prince, a package has arrived for you from the docks," Ser Hotah said, "a package for House Martell."

Prince Doran frowned and waved the messenger forward. "Who are you and where do you hail?"

"Brandon, ser," the sea-soaked sailor said in a thick northern accent. Syrio had only heard it perhaps once or twice before, when he'd met with the Company of the Rose during his own time as a Bravo. "I work on the *Northern Winds* as a deckhand, milord. We were paid to bring this chest here to ye."

"Who sent it?" Oberyn asked, "Where did you pick it up?"

Sweat dripped from the boy's face and down the open collar of his shirt. "Lannisport, ser. It was dropped off by a matched pair it was. Didn't leave a message. Work of the Lord Guardians, I wager." 

Oberyn tried asking a few more questions but the young boy, growing further upset, stuttered.

Finally, Prince Doran interrupted his brother. "I don't think Brandon has anything more to tell us; Ser Hotah, please make sure this boy is taken care of."

"Of course, your grace."

Oberyn turned the chest so that if it was a trap, if there was something dangerous waiting to get out, Oberyn would be the first hit and not his brother. Syrio bit down on the offer to take care of this threat for his friend. Whatever was inside was for House Martell, and Syrio would dare to assume that his fleeting friendship with Oberyn entitled him to their secrets.

Breaking the seal on the canvas shrouding the chest revealed nothing more dangerous than the true packaging. A plain but well-made chest, unadorned or decorated but solidly constructed. Affixed to the curved top of the package was a letter. Oberyn opened and barely caught the key as it fell out. The Prince read the note once and then a second time.

"Oberyn? What is it?"

The younger Martell brother cleared his throat, "Good men hunt monsters and First Men wage just wars under Stark Kings and Stark Lords. Nothing that happened to your sister and her children was just."

Princess Elia of House Martell had been brutally raped and murdered. According to all accounts, her children's bodies had been barely recognizable when Tywin Lannister had displayed them before Robert Baratheon. It had been a blessing that when House Martell had received their remains, some moons back there had only been bones. 

"Is it signed?" Prince Doran asked, his voice breaking on the question even as the parchment crumpled around the edges in Oberyn's grip. 

"No," Oberyn cleared his throat, but it didn't help, tears still choked him. "It's a spikey handwriting, but clear enough. No sigils or seals, just the message."

When the brothers remained silent, each fighting back their own grief, Syrio spoke quietly as he circled the table to be closer to his friend. "Open it, Oberyn. You need to know what's inside."

Doran stood abruptly and joined his brother when Oberyn's hands shook too hard to keep hold of the key. The older Prince took a deep breath and opened the lock. He pushed the lid back, and the world seemed to hold their breath with them. This time Syrio was close enough to see it.

Within the chest, laid on a pile of woodchips and hay, two heads preserved in tar sat side by side. Each had a name tag. One, the smaller of the two, said Amory Lorch. And the second, substantially larger head was tagged as Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides. Oberyn collapsed back into his chair and tears slid down Doran's face.

"That's two debts owed House Stark now," Doran said quietly. "The gods bless that man and his House."

"I- I want to say that he stole our revenge," Oberyn replied. "I want to hate him for taking that from us, but-" the younger Martell palmed his chest hard, hunched, and hurting. "I know Elia can rest now. Her bones are home and her murderer is dead. But I-"

"Lord Stark didn't steal our revenge," Prince Doran said decisively, closing the chest with a solid thunk, locking it and hiding the key away in his pocket. "He granted justice for the dead; revenge, brother, is for the living. And now we can take as long as we need to complete it." He ignored the moisture tracks on his face as he turned to their guest, and Syrio did the same. "Master Forel, I apologize, but as you saw Oberyn, and I have some family matters to discuss."

"Perhaps I'll take that tour of the gardens," Syrio offered, rocking back on his heels just a little. "I was told it was a spectacular sight."

"It is," Prince Doran agreed, "I hope you enjoy your day."

And what could Syrio do but leave the brothers to their grief and their love? They didn't need a stranger, no matter how compassionate, to observe them as they rebuilt themselves and their house in this time of mourning.

*****

He dreamt of his mother. Lysa Forel, who married the sellsword and never hid the scars she'd gained in slavery. She'd run a shelter for assisting former slaves, and when Syrio had been ten turns old she'd been bedridden with a fever hot enough, the healing woman had sworn she'd die. In the dream, instead of following his mother's wishes and helping her out to the garden where the clean air and trees seemed to refresh her, Syrio kept his mother in the room and she died long before she should have.

He kept going, just as he had in life when his mother had passed and he was alone but for his sword skill. Instead of lingering in Braavos and joining the guard companies and then journeying up the ranks of the Bravos, this dream-Syrio spent his grief in blood and alcohol as a sell sword. 

Syrio does eventually claim the title of First Sword of Braavos, but he's much older in the dream. And there's a hollow ache in his chest and tug emanating from behind his heart that he never followed. Simply chased it away minute by minute with sex, blood, and alcohol.

The scene changed.

The next scene was in Braavos again. A memory of only moons ago. Syrio sat on the steps of House of Black and White, staring out at the port city that sprawled beneath. 

"The Many Faced God would not place you a path that he did not desire for you."

"Valar Morghulis," Syrio did not turn as the Kindly Man sat next to him, but he was certain the devotee could hear the downward twist in his lips. "The Many Faced God cares about the dead, not the living. Not as such."

"No, perhaps not." The assassin agreed, "but a life lived freely and passionately is a dedication to Death that he savors when he comes to harvest the soul. He would send you out into the world on another gods' path than have your devotion to him turn to chains." the man, who might not even be a man, turned to directly face Syrio, and Syrio turned to meet him. "Do not make the god of freedom a slaver of you."

The scene changed. 

Syrio stood on the parapets of a truly enormous curtain wall, staring out onto a field of white. "So this is snow. A Summer blizzard you called it?"

"Aye," A warm body moved in behind him, closer even than he had allowed shield brothers and friends, and the man laid a heavy cloak about his shoulders that Syrio couldn't resist tugging closer still. "Summer blizzards can be worse than winter ones. Those we're prepared for. These do more damage than winter ones. Damaged roads, broken bridges, dead crops and livestock." 

Syrio turned in the grasp of this man and cupped his face in his hands. Laying a kiss slow and savoring on his love's lips. Nipping just a bit to feel the large hands on his hips clutch him tighter. "We'll figure it out. Together."

The scene changed.

The great hall of a large castle spread out before him. The tables crammed tight with people, a minstrel was playing some sort of high and ethereal pipe near the blazing hearths. The hall resounded with laughter and good cheer even as the wind howled outside and the white powder—snow—piled up higher and higher against the windows. 

Three voices called him papa as little feet ran on stone. Syrio couldn't hear their names in the dream, but his heart burst with love as they ran and played. 

"Do you want another?" His lover asked, letting the breath from his words brush Syrio's ear. "Perhaps a babe with your coloring and not mine?"

Syrio laughed, curled tighter into the grasp of his love. "Our three pups are trouble enough, husband. Two sons to carry on your name and a daughter to torture them. Besides, you know I find no appeal in a woman's body. Not even to carry my child. And you, my love," Syrio trailed off at the frown that marred the face he loved. "Let's not speak of such things. Surely, asking the gods for another would be borrowing trouble?"

The man in the Lord's chair snorted and shook his head. "True enough, ours get into enough trouble for five with how they have the run of the castle."

The scene changed. 

There was a bed covered in furs and a blaze in the fireplace. The room was lit only with the play of shadows as Syrio tumbled onto his back. He laughed and then moaned as the hard body of his lover held him down and swallowed. Syrio called out his lover's name, the taste of it on his tongue was familiar. 

Syrio's focus narrowed to the man between his thighs and the wonders he was accomplishing with his mouth. He groaned as the suction let up and his love took a breath, "Gods be damned, you're going to kill me. Right here in our bed. The maid'll scream when she finds me in the morning."

"It'd be a fine way to go," he smirked up at Syrio. "Though, with you still making sense, perhaps I should try harder."

Syrio shouted. His lover crooked his slick fingers just a little more. The pleasure was a tight coil in his belly, but it wasn't enough. 

His lover laughed, low and rough, right over his abandoned cock and thrust just a little more. Syrio was breathless, fingers tightened up in the bedclothes, jerking his hips unconsciously. The scene darkened, but he could still hear his love.

"We'll get there, Siri. We'll get there."

Syrio woke up panting. His skin was slick with sweat, his cock was hard, and his ass clenched around the memory of callused fingers he hadn't felt yet. His sheets were twisted around him and the faint breeze from the ocean wasn't cool enough when he thought he should taste snow. 

He was suddenly and desperately lonely in a way he’d never recognized but knew he'd always felt. There should be a body beside his. Not any body, but that body. The man from his dream, with the beard that left a burn between his thighs and across his lips. The man he'd lost his heart to in a dream. 

Syrio knew where he was going now. A place where snow might fall even in summer and the warmest months felt like the depths of winter in Dorne. Where a castle stood large enough, formidable enough, marvelous enough, tales of its construction had even reached Essos. He wondered if the Northern ship was still in the harbor. If they took passengers and not just goods. If there were any other ships headed North, he might book passage on. Even a moon's time might be too long to wait. There was a man of the North the gods had given him, and Syrio had kept him waiting long enough.

**~ Part Five ~**

Ned sat in his chair in the Lord's study and resisted the urge to put his head down. If he did that, there was no hope he'd raise it again before someone noticed him asleep at his desk. The day was off to a poor start. Robb had developed colic. Old Nan had promised that it was natural and the babe would heal, but it tore at his heart to hear his son wail so. He'd deftly ignored the servants, Northern women with small smiles and Southerners who couldn't hide their shock, when he'd absconded with his sons to his own rooms. 

The three of them had gotten more sleep piled into a nest of blankets and furs than any of them would have sleeping alone. Robb hadn't emerged as a greenseer or a guardian, but it was in his blood and close to the surface. The boy more comfortable lying pressed to Ned's chest as he slept than with all the attention in the nursery. Jon snuffled up under Ned's arm, a tiny white direwolf pup—its eyes not open yet—curled up tight around him.

It had soothed his heart to sleep with his children in his arms and soothed them to sleep in his arms. Ned honestly hadn't wanted to give them up when he'd had to start his day. Old Nan had stood in his doorway, though, a knowing look in her eyes as she held out her arms for the two children. And Ned hadn't been able to offer an objection. At least he could still hear the nursery from his study.

Ned had been understandably preoccupied at breakfast. Heart still a little sore from giving his children back to the nursery. More than a little tired from broken sleep and the absence of morning tea. He hadn't noticed the change in menu until they had served it to him and he'd mindlessly eaten off the plate. Which had been a poor choice. Lady Catelyn had served a popular Riverrun dish for breakfast. A fish soup with vegetables and dumplings, it might have even been pleasant if it weren't for the heavy use of spice. There had been no warning, as there might have been with staff familiar to his needs since she had also replaced the servants at breakfast with Southerners. It had been embarrassing then when he'd spit it out. 

Which hadn't endeared the situation to his wife. Who, it appeared, did not simply refuse to learn the ways of the North, but outright denied the existence of guardians and greenseers. 

Thinking back on the situation, Ned couldn't help but curse his father. Catelyn Tully should never have been Lady Stark.

Ser Rodrick knocked at the open door, "I have the reports, milord."

"Shut the door on your way in," Ned waved the man in. There was no actual way to keep secrets from Guardian's ears or a Greenseer's heart, but the walls of Winterfell were thick. And the same techniques that made the castle warm in even the coldest of winters made it difficult to hear through the walls. Ned kept his door open for all but the most sensitive of meetings to hear his children in the nursery. To connect with the sounds of the castle and the people who made it a home.

With the door and windows shut, the only moving thing that would hear their words would be the water in the walls. 

"What did you find?" Ned set aside his paperwork and gave the other Guardian his full attention.

"A damn sight more than I expected," Ser Rodrick shook his head, "forgive me, milord, but this has to have been going on longer than even you expected. I wrote the guardians and their forest spouses of the neighboring territories. None can remember the last Guardian of the Dreadfort. Old Nan thought it might have been Galivin of Green Lake, and Master Kane of the Barrowlands agreed with that. But that puts the last Guardian of the Dreadfort dead over thirty years ago. I just can't believe that could be."

"No," Ned agreed, "that doesn't seem possible."

Thirty years was a long time. A very long time in the North. Nearly two generations as the small folk count them, the years between the birth of a woman's first child and the birth of that child's first child. 

"Thirty years would place the start of this around the time of Lord Edwyle Bolton's death, wouldn't it?" Ned asked, going to the bookshelves on the far wall of the study. Ned pulled out the Lord's journal for the year 251 after the conquering. For some of the oldest of these journals, the dates were written 'after the long night'. Maester Walys scoffed, but no matter how hard the Citadel wanted to dismiss it, the North remembered. "Do you remember who had control over the Dreadfort before Roose? I can't seem to remember ever meeting the man." 

Ser Rodrick shook his head, "I was a Bolton though, I remember that."

"Beric Bolton," Ned read, squinting at the scrawl his father had left. "Lord Edwyle's younger brother, 'has been appointed Lord of the Dreadfort considering his brother's passing without heirs. He has agreed to take Lady Afinna as his wife to preserve the agreement with House Nis'. House Nis?"

"They're dead," Ser Rodrick said with a shrug, "but that's nothing suspicious. House Nis had been dying for generations."

No, there was nothing there exactly, but whatever had happened at the Dreadfort that had resulted in the lack of guardians and greenseers, it had started with Lord Edwyle's death. 

"Find me a pair, Ser Rodrick." Ned finally said, leaning back from the brief entry in his father's journal. "A pair or a spy. Someone who will get to the bottom of this. Whether it's intentional or accidental, we can't continue to overlook this situation. There's something wrong with the Dreadfort."

"Lord Stark," Maester Walys opened the door without knocking, and though it didn't bang against the wall, the sudden influx of noise from the rest of the castle was just as disruptive. "I must speak with you at once concerning a very distressing topic."

Ser Rodrick frowned but nodded, "Surprised we had this much time, honestly. I'll find the right person, milord, and set them about their business."

"Thank you, Ser Rodrick," Ned dismissed the Guardian, fear roiling in the pit of his stomach. "Maester Walys, are the children alright?"

He shouldn't do it. Without a Forest Spouse the world was a rather dangerous place, but danger hadn't ever stopped a Stark from their duty. So Ned stretched out his hearing to catch the sound of the nursery down the hall. Two women sat speaking about intimate issues while Old Nan cackled in her rocker. One babe sounded distressed as he suckled, likely Robb with his colic, and in the background there was just the faintest sound of giggles. Their hearts beat strong and all he could hear said that the boys were fine. Ned sighed. The boys were fine.

"What?" Maester Walys blinked his large bug eyes back at the Lord and shook his head like a dog. "Young Robb is fine enough, I suppose, though Old Nan refused milk of the poppy for the lad."

Ned leaned back in his seat, suddenly suspicious that Maester Walys's opinion of what was distressing and his would not match. "And Jon?"

"The bastard?" Walys settled himself in front of the Lord's desk with a huff and flapped a hand, "he's fine. No, I'm quite distressed about what I heard happened in the Great Hall this morning. It was completely improper to air such grievances between you and your Lady to the entire castle, lad."

Ned frowned, the Maester wasn't wrong, but the man's entire demeanor was demeaning and it was taking everything Ned had not to kick the old man right back out of the study.

"I understand you didn't appreciate the change in routine, but the appropriate way to handle it would have been to finish the meal and later inform your wife of your desires. Certainly not to spit soup onto the table!"

"Maester Walys," Ned interrupted, "how long have you been the Maester of Winterfell?"

The man blinked his bug eyes, "why you were just a babe in arms when I arrived to serve your father. Which I did admirably, if I say so myself."

"So you say," Ned bit out, "I'm a Guardian, Maester Walys. It wasn't that I didn't like Lady Catelyn's menu—I couldn't eat it."

"Ah, poppycock!" Maester Walys scowled, "You were fostered in the Eyrie with honorable men! You shouldn't tell these lies about folktales and magic! You-"

Walys screamed. The guards in the hall threw the door open and were witnesses to their Lord Guardian's companion just about taking off the Maester's head. Several hundred pounds of direwolf now leaned against the Lord's desk, getting right up in the man's face, snarling. Pitch black fur with eyes like fire, the Maester fainted. Ned didn't blame him, he still hoped the old man had nightmares though.

"Lies, hmm?" Ned shook his head, "Halis, please help Maester Walys to a couch that is not my office, won't you." He thought, "Also, set a guard on the Maester, I don't want any ravens flying from Winterfell without knowing what tidings they tell."

The guardsman who'd followed him home from the war was a stout fellow and a capable man. He'd speak with Ser Rodrik and manage the guard on Walys until Ned could figure out what to do with the old man. Maesters might say that they hold the secrets of the Houses they serve sacrosanct, but Ned wasn't willing to believe them. Not right now.

Ned ran a hand down the broad back of his companion, Night, and rubbed deep into the thick coat of fur. He was a massive and powerful creature. A companion for the rest of Ned's days. To help him use his senses and protect his family while Ned protected the territory. 

"You're always welcome with me, lad." the Guardian said as he scratched at the direwolf's ears, "but I'd be much obliged if you could keep an eye on our boys. How about that, hmm? Leave me the hard work for now, and you can enjoy naps in the nursery?"

Night snorted, sending a breath full of magic and frost into Ned's face. He rubbed his head against Ned's and covered the Lord Guardian in a fine layer of something that might have been dust or fur or magic. Before leaving for a more entertaining evening with the babies.

"Mother preserve me!" Lady Catelyn exclaimed as the wolf passed her by with no more notice than a flick of his tail. "Has that beast been here the entire time?"

"Night only arrived this afternoon," Ned said honestly, bracing himself against his desk with a sigh. After the day he'd had, Ned wasn't sure he was up to a fight with his wife at the moment. "He's a blessing from the Old Gods. All Guardians have companions to help them, Night is mine."

While always pale, Southerners seemed to abhor the sun for all they hated the dark Northern winters, Lady Catelyn seemed to lose a great deal more color in her cheeks. And she settled uneasily into the same chair Maester Walys had chosen for his poorly considered rebuke. 

"Is it- is it safe?" She waved a weak hand, "for Robb?"

"Night would never harm a child."

"He's an animal."

"An intelligent animal," Ned smirked tiredly, "isn't that what Maester Moar always claimed humanity was? 'An intelligent animal barely clinging to reason'?"

Lady Catelyn's color came back as she smiled shyly, "You know the philosophies?"

"Maester Daeron of the Eyrie was a particular fan of the theory." Ned poured a cup of red wine and carried the small tray of food to the desk to share with his wife. He might not like her attitude or her religion, but there was no reason to be rude. "He repeated the passage concerning man's failing to subjugate their foul sins at every single execution, and he attended them all. I think by the time I left the Eyrie I had it memorized." He smiled mischievously, "and I'd never even read it." 

Lady Catelyn laughed and scooted her chair closer, "Is that what happened with Maester Walys, then? He succumbed to the innate sins of a man's soul?"

"If arrogance is one of those sins, yes. Maester Walys forgot I was Lord, not he. And unfortunately, I believe it took a meeting with Night for him to realize it." Ned shook his head, "Surely that's not what you came for; what can I do for you, Lady Catelyn?"

"It is why I came, perhaps a bit." She frowned, directing her attention to the wine in her hand. "I- I was very upset with you this morning. Embarrassed over the incident with the soup."

"You've been upset with me since I arrived," Ned said dryly. Her disapprobation wasn't a shock to him.

The Lady flushed, "You're not wrong, milord. And I apologize. It's been made clear to me, your failure to live up to my expectations is not your problem. I-"

Ned sighed, he didn't know who it was. Had to have been one of the Winterfell Guardians born to a House, because the conversation would be going much different if a servant had taken Lady Stark to task. "Neither of us are particularly pleased with this situation. You were betrothed to Brandon and I am a Guardian. We married for the war and now we have to live with that."

"Perhaps we could start again?" Lady Catelyn asked, biting her lip nervously.

"Moving forward would be better," He replied carefully. "These are our circumstances and we must make the best of them."

"Then we should discuss what happened this morning." She nodded slowly, straightened her shoulders and looked straight at him when she said, "I apologize for the scene. It was unbecoming of a woman of my station."

There were several things that Ned wanted Catelyn to apologize for. The scene this morning was so low on the list as to not be an issue at all. How odd that her first concern was her appearance of manners, instead of the very real offenses she'd dealt people since she'd arrived. 

"I don't think that's the real problem here." Ned said softly, "I know the North is not what you were expecting, but I really would like to call my wife a friend."

Lady Catelyn stared into her wine for a moment, as though all the answers of the world could be found in its loose leaves. "I agree. I would like that."

"Good," Ned breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't sound or smell like she was lying, but between the Southern perfume she coated herself in and being unfamiliar with her, he wasn't sure he would know. He wanted to believe she was honest, though. Winterfell had been his home even while he was away at the Eyrie, he didn't want it to become a prison. 

"Let's put that aside." He smiled, pouring them both more wine. "I'm sorry to say I don't really know you, Lady Catelyn. Tell me something about yourself?"

"I loved Brandon," Lady Catelyn said with a sigh, sipping at her wine. "Perhaps that isn't the best place to start, but it's honest. I loved him, gave him my heart all those years ago when his father came down to sign the agreement."

"And that's where your discontent starts," Ned knew, "I'm not Brandon."

"I'm sorry." She put her cup down and moved to stand, "I should go."

"Please, don't." Ned grabbed her sleeve, just tight enough to stop her. "Benjen is still furious over their deaths, but I don't have the energy to be mad anymore. Just sad. Stay with me?"

"Certainly, my lord," Lady Catelyn said, moving her chair closer. "I'm afraid I don't know your family very well." She scrunched her nose in faint disgust, "Even less than I know of the North."

"But you loved Brandon."

She sighed, "I loved him. He was a fierce and wild delight. Such a sharp difference from the men of the Riverlands I grew up with."

"The wolfsblood, it's called." Ned said faintly, frowning. Wondering again at what his father had been thinking, betrothing Brandon and Catelyn when his older brother had the wolfsblood so strong. "It's a sign of Guardian potential, some say. Being that in tune with the world. But Brandon never emerged." He gulped back the wine with a grimace, "Gods, but I hope he never emerged. To emerge in the dungeons of the Red Keep, with no way to get home, no way to save himself or his clan. It would be a terrible way to die."

"You believe that." Lady Catelyn said faintly, staring at him. "All those stories and tricks about hearing and seeing further, about being called to protect. You really believe it?"

"It's a fact." Ned stared at the empty fireplace grate, "as unchangeable as the mountains or the tides of the sea. Believing in it or not, doesn't change that."

Her expression was incredulous, tinged with disdain and something like superiority. Perhaps this was a bad idea. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Catelyn, I think it's time I retired."

"Oh, but," This time it was her hand stopping him, "just one more cup of wine? To help you sleep?"

Ned didn't really think it was the best idea, but his wife was already reaching for the pitcher. The room was already a little fuzzy and the winch he imagined for his senses were already a bit out of control. A long day, stressful topics, too much wine, it all compounded. Perhaps tomorrow he would ask for his study to hold sweet water instead. But one more glass shouldn't be a problem.

"It really should be mulled," She laughed nervously as she watched him take a sip. "Wine before bed should always be mulled."

"Millie in the kitchen has a wonderful recipe for mulled wine." Ned said distantly as he tried to place the odd flavor and grit in the wine. "Did we reach the end of the barrel?"

Lady Catelyn scoffed, "They wouldn't serve the bottom of the barrel to the Lord Stark."

That was true. Picking up flavors and textures that he shouldn't was a sign that his senses weren't under control. But Ned already knew that. It was simply odd how fuzzy the world had gotten.

"Perhaps," He said slowly, deliberately shaping the words in his mouth, "it is later than we thought. May I bid you goodnight, Lady Catelyn? And sweet rest."

"Only," She stood with a rustle of her skirts, linking her arm through his, "if you escort me to my rooms, my lord. I'm afraid, I still get rather lost in this large castle."

Ned nodded graciously, as much as the wine would allow, and thought little of how warm he felt. Or how the hall to the Lord's bedchambers was practically empty. It was late, after all, and Ned was struggling to maintain control of his limbs. A curious fire had lit in his belly and all could think of was returning to the room he was staying in near the nursery and perhaps making a mess for the maid who did the laundry. 

"Your room, Lady Catelyn." Ned said, very little attention on his wife as he opened the door for her. "May you have a pleasant sleep."

"I know an even better way to sleep well," she said, her fingers wrapping tight within his clothes as she dragged him into the room and backed him up to the door. There was something off about her scent, about the look on her face and the tone in her voice. But Ned was helpless to do more than blink; though he wondered distantly how a few cups of summer wine could have gotten him so drunk. "If you'll oblige me, my lord."

"Lady Catelyn, I really don't think-" Her lips pressed incessantly against his and her fingers made quick work of his ties and buttons. His hands moving too slow to stop her. "What are you-"

"Don't worry, my lord." Her smile was a slash of white as she pushed him down onto the bed, "I promise you'll enjoy it."

After that, Ned didn't remember. Didn't want to remember. It didn't stop him from figuring it out. He wakes in the bed of the Lord's chambers. Lady Catelyn laid next to him, though thankfully not touching him. The room smelt of sex.

Ned gagged. His mouth tasted like something died in it, and his stomach roiled like the sea at Storm's End. He couldn't look at her, sleeping peacefully next to him without a care in the world. Like she hadn't betrayed him. He couldn't stand the sight of her.

Stumbling from bed, refusing to think as he covered his body with the clothes he'd shed last night, Ned fled the room. He could still smell her under his nose, taste her on his tongue. He could feel her against his skin. He hated it. He hated her. 

"Meera," Ned grabbed a passing member of the castle staff, "find my brother, please. Tell Benjen I need him. Now."

Meera dropped her basket. Just linens for the guest bedrooms, Ned noted absently, and didn't even curtsy. Just took off running down the hall. Ned straightened his shoulders and continued back down to the servants’ baths near the kitchen. He didn't want to know what Meera saw that concerned her. He shoved it into the box he was ignoring with all of last night in it too. 

Ned hated her. Hated her for that too. Aerys Targaryen had been a nasty, hideous man, inside and out, who'd murdered his family. Rhaegar Targaryen had been an arrogant idiot who couldn't consider the consequence of his actions. Never once during the war had he hated them. Ned didn't think he'd ever hated anyone until he woke up in the Lord's chambers this morning. 

It was a revolting feeling and Ned wanted it gone just as much as he wanted everything else of last night gone.

"Milord, how- what- do you need something?" The young man at the other baths stuttered. 

"No, lad. I," Ned hesitated, he'd needed out of the bedchamber and he'd needed to wash; but-

"Kaleb," Benjen said as he entered the room, a furious frown on his face. "Lad, do us a favor and disappear for a while. Misha will find you when you can return to work."

"Aye, milord."

With only his brother watching, Ned stripped and entered the pools in the servants’ baths. The water was hot, cooled only by the distance it had been piped from the hot spring in the Godswood. He dunked and washed, dunked and washed. Wishing that the scalding water from the spring could wash his mind as clean as it did his skin.

"Ned," Benjen sat at the edge of the pool, watching with something hurt in his eyes, "What happened? Meera was beside herself when she found me. Begging me to go immediately to find you. What did you tell her?"

"Nothing," Ned finally moved back to the edge where there was a bench to sit on. 

"Brother-"

"I slept with Lady-," Ned choked, "with my wife last night."

"Did you hurt her?" Benjen asked quietly.

A sob burst from his lips, and Ned scrubbed at his face. At the tears leaking from his eyes. At the hitch in his chest. He didn't hear the splash when his brother got in the pool, but Benjen was still clothed when he wrapped his arms around Ned and pulled him to his chest. He didn't bother with platitudes and soft words, simply held Ned as the older Stark shook apart.

“What kind of man is sick at the touch of a woman? I can still feel her touching me, Benjen. I hate it."

"What happened, Ned?" Benjen followed his brother out of the pool, shedding his training gear to leave in a heap for the laundry. 

"She came in to the study, wanted to apologize for the scene at breakfast." Someone had come in while they'd been in the pools. Clean clothes from their own wardrobes waited next to still warm drying clothes wrapped around heated stones. "We spoke. I was looking for a common ground, she's my wife-" Ned took a moment to breathe as the very idea of being tied to that woman for the rest of his days stole his breath. "We could've at least been friends."

Benjen nodded, "But?"

"There was something in the wine." Ned closed his eyes to block out the flashes of horrible memory teasing at the edges of his mind. Remnants of last night. "I didn't have any control. She took me by the hand, pushed me into the bed, and-"

"And raped you." 

"Yes."

"What do you want to do?"

"What can I do?" Ned cried, "She's my wife. Lord Tully is a Southern Great Lord. He will not accept that a woman could rape a man, let alone that his daughter could. And then what? My intimate business would be spread around the whole of the Seven Kingdoms for all those fools to laugh about."

"Never the North." Benjen objected, "Your Banners would not dare spread gossip about your affairs. They love you."

"Bolton doesn't." Ned argued, "Lord Karstark would not be sad to see me displaced from Winterfell. House Ryswell would only see the advantage. No, I won't have the intimate affairs of House Stark spread throughout Westeros."

"There are other options." Benjen agreed finally. "Assign her a guard to follow her. Limit her authority in Winterfell. Banish her from the Lord's chambers. Send her courtiers and servants back to Riverrun. Restrict her spending. Simply because she is your wife does not mean her situation here in Winterfell could not be much more uncomfortable." 

Ned tugged his boots on and considered the idea. He could not send her away or back to her father's house. The fallout would be too much to weather. But everyone knew that he'd objected to marrying Brandon's betrothed. And he'd objected to marrying in a Sept. The ceremony hadn't even included any of the traditional Northern phrases or promises. As far as the Old Gods were concerned, he wasn't married. Not until his Forest Spouse kept him.

His Forest Spouse. Howland Reed was the most powerful Greenseer he'd ever known. Seeing the future decades in advance, reading not only the truth of the heart, but their motivations and fears as well. The Old Gods blessed his old friend and Howland believed without a doubt that there was a Forest Spouse in Ned's future that would more than make up for the blood, sweat, and tears he had now. He just had to hold on to that promise.

"Let's do that." Ned finally agreed, "And we'll tell anyone who asks that because Lord Tully insisted on a Southern marriage in a Sept, I don't consider myself married."

"And when they inevitably ask if you intend to take a second spouse?"

"I'm waiting for my Forest Spouse." Ned opened the bath room door to Ser Rodrick leaning against the wall beside Halis and Gemma, Winterfell's head housekeeper, waiting with some of her maids. "With two sons already and you as well, they can't claim I need more heirs."

"Lord Stark," Ser Rodrick greeted, "I would be happy to assist."

Gemma simply tilted her head back, "You're going to need some extra hands, milord."

"Excellent idea, Gemma." Benjen smirked, holding his arm out for the older woman. "It would be beyond the pale, for us men to handle Lady Catelyn's delicates."

"Indeed, milord," the woman said dryly. "It would be such a scandal."

The door to the Lord's chambers was cracked when they reached it, and Ned could hear the giggling and whispers from within. He pushed the door open to see Lady Catelyn in her dressing gown and her maid setting a small tray of food on the desk. There was a teapot with lemon and ginger tea and a small plate of bread.

"Do you think it will work, my lady?" the maid was asking.

"Oh, I hope so." Catelyn Tully replied, a laugh in her voice. "Surely a child will help him think favorably toward me."

"Surely, so." The woman replied.

It sent Ned's stomach roiling to consider. A child created under such circumstances would be an heir of House Stark and due all the love and consideration he could provide. No matter how he hated their mother. He wondered how early they would be able to know. 

"Lady Catelyn," Ned said after clearing the hitch in his throat, not daring to continue within, "please gather your things. You're being moved to a more... appropriate set of rooms."

"What rooms are more appropriate for the Lady of Winterfell than those of the Lord's bedchamber?" She asked with a forced laugh, her scent betraying her unease even through the reminders of last night's activities.

"When I have no intention or desire of ever touching you again?" The Southern maid startled, but Ned didn't care. He was done hiding behind propriety. Propriety meant leaving his children in the nursery, ignoring their cries, denying how much he hated his wife. He was done with Southern propriety. "You'll be moved to the dowager suite."

"I'm the Lady of Winterfell!" She objected as Gemma's girls came in and started collecting her articles, physically moving the other maid when she tried to be an obstacle. "You can't just set me aside."

"Sure, he can." Benjen stood out of the way, a vicious smile on his lips. "Northern women have rights under First Men law; Dornish women have rights under Rhoynish law. But you married in the light of the Seven. According to Westerosi law, you're the property of your husband."

"I'm not kicking you out of Winterfell," Ned clarified, "your new rooms are still in this wing, just a floor beneath us. But I will advise the guards and servants that you aren't to be allowed in my bedchamber or in my study. You can have the title, but that's it."

Lady Catelyn's promised poise and grace, those Southern skills she'd been so embarrassed to lose yesterday morning were nowhere to be seen as the guards and maids emptied his rooms of her presence, she shouted and screamed and then burst into tears as Gemma finally physically removed her from the chambers.

"I'm sorry, Ned." Benjen finally said as they stepped back to allow a new group of servants to approach with cleaning materials in hand. "I should have been there for you; instead of relying on that harpy."

"What are you talking about, Benjen?" Ned blinked, "You're the best a brother could ask for."

"But when you came home from war, I was so pleased to no longer be the Stark in Winterfell that I threw the job at you and never looked back." Benjen shook his head, "You needed me. I should have stayed."

"I will not ask you to hold my hand for the rest of my life, Benjen!" Ned laughed at that imagined future. "You're fifteen, you deserve to go out and live your own life. You shouldn't be tied to this dreary old castle anymore than you already have been."

"I love Winterfell." Benjen objected, "It's my home. It's where you are. Ned, you're my pack. My family by blood and by spirit. Lord Guardian of the North and of me, but when you needed me, I wasn't there."

"I don't blame you, Benjen." Ned curled his hand around his brother's neck and brought him close so that they could pretend for a moment that the rest of the world didn't exist, just them. "I don't blame any of the guardians for not realizing it, or the greenseers for not knowing what was happening. The only people I blame are my wife, and whoever gave her that drug to slip into my wine."

"But-"

"No, listen to me." Ned shook his brother a little, "I was in Winterfell, surrounded by our people; I shouldn't have been in any danger."

"But you were."

Ned sighed. He could still feel that tight ball of hate stewing in his gut, but watching that perfect Southern flower dragged from his rooms a mess had been quite cathartic. There was no one in Winterfell who wouldn't know how he felt about her by the end of the day. 

"Alright, Benjen." He finally said, "If you help me find a way to keep this from happening again, help me design a law, a First Men law, to protect not only women in their marriage beds but men as well will you agree it’s fine for you to leave?"

"I'm not leaving."

"No?"

"Never."

"What about the Wall?"

"The Wall can go screw itself."


End file.
